


A Certain Type of Darkness

by misslizanne



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Swan AU - Freeform, Crime Drama, F/M, FBI, Irish Mob
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-26 07:26:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 68,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1679819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misslizanne/pseuds/misslizanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years ago, Federal Agent Emma Swan’s life changed forever when she lost her partner at the hands of Edward Teach, the Blackbeard of Boston. Now, with the help of Killian Jones, imprisoned felon and nephew of the famed Irish mobster she’s desperately trying to bring to justice, she may be able to put the demons of her past to rest and help Killian sate his own vengeful soul. Unless those demons consume both of them first...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It had been three years since the FBI went after Edward Teach, a mobster known for his brutal and cutthroat demeanor with a reputation as the “Blackbeard of Boston.” It was a cookie cutter case back then: man runs an organized crime ring, one agent goes undercover, infiltrates the circle and the team successfully puts away the mob boss. It was smooth for months, and the FBI was gaining valuable intelligence on Teach’s family and his organization’s inner workings. But then someone leaked information, letting it spill that an agent was in their midst, and the entire investigation fell apart at the seams.

She remembered the voicemail from that evening that her partner was leaving to follow up on a lead concerning Teach’s most recent kidnapping, the daughter of a politician who was instrumental in the conviction of Teach’s nephew, Jefferson. He wasn’t supposed to go out alone, especially without prior consent from the senior agents, but her partner was never one to listen to authority, always finding an easier, yet less acceptable way of putting away the bad guys. That’s what she’d liked about him though, the fact that he never left anything up to chance, never did things by the book (which always left her amazed and breathless when they finally caught their mark, a rush of adrenaline pumping through her veins each and every time they won).

She called her partner back, but there was no answer. She called him again an hour later, still nothing. That’s when she began to worry, dialing the senior agent who vowed to give her partner a stern talking to when he returned. But he never did. He died in what could only be described as a strict warning to never mess with Edward Teach again. That night her life changed forever, her purpose as a federal agent clearly laid out for her: put the man who killed her partner behind bars and make him...

She was abruptly jolted from her recollection of events by her current partner, a much older man who lingered at her side like a protective father, the senior agent who remained with her ever since if only to keep her sane. She looked out the plane window, taking notice of the dark tarmac, the familiar surroundings and the somber, almost angry clouds billowing in the grey sky. Chicago O’Hare International, she assumed, knowing they were here for one reason and one reason alone: to pick up some very precious cargo by the name of Killian Jones.

Killian was one of Teach’s nephews, recently imprisoned on charges of money laundering and the missing piece in the FBI’s case concerning the kidnapping of Danny Boyle, a rival mobster who was embroiled in a decades long feud with Teach. Killian was a man with insight and experience in the workings of his family, and had a penchant for crime and vengeance that they desperately needed in a case like this if they were going to infiltrate his family again.

She presented the required clearances of her and her partner, flashing their badges upon entry and heading towards an interrogation room nestled deep within the prison. Her partner began thumbing through the file of Killian Jones once they settled in, reading up on his prior history, small misdemeanors and felonies, the usual description of the man batting cleanup, never the one committing the crimes.

“You really think he’ll bite?” her partner asked amidst the steady rumble of thunder off in the distance.

Her legs felt restless under the table, her body on edge as they awaited the prisoner. Her partner reached out his hand, grabbing hers in an effort to calm her nerves. He was always one to keep her grounded, even when she got too overwhelmed (because her partner was there that night, because what she lost, he lost too and he understood the true meaning behind this case).

“He has to,” she stated, steady voice a stark contrast from her jittery demeanor.

“But what if he doesn’t?” her partner questioned, squeezing her hand sympathetically. “You have to be prepared for that, considering what he has been through at the hands of his uncle.”

She cleared her throat, intending to snap back when the door began to open, revealing the man in question. He looked older than his age, dressed from head to toe in an orange jumpsuit, his jawline still covered in a modest layer of black scruff with the slightest hint of ginger, his jet-black hair tousled atop his head as if he’d been running his fingers through it for weeks.

She locked onto his expression, tired and worn and the very definition of _hell_ as he darted his eyes from her towards the murky glass of the room’s small window, staring out at the dark clouds menacingly mocking him.

“I don’t think he has a choice,” she muttered as a jolt of lightning struck the ground and the sound of rain began to patter against the glass.

He seemed helpless, a complete waste. But to her, he looked just like the saving grace she so greatly needed.

* * *

It had been almost a month since they’d locked him up, and he assumed this impromptu meeting was with his lawyer concerning his impending trial. The door opened to reveal an older man with sandy hair and a woman with flowing blonde waves (who looked like an absolute vision but he had to refrain from thinking anything of the sort when his eyes flashed towards the badge on her hip and the insincerity in her eyes).

“Who the bloody hell are you two?” Killian sneered in his drawl of an accent, sitting down in the cold metal chair the officer pulled out for him.

“I’m Federal Agent Emma Swan,” the blonde stated, placing her badge on the table for him to inspect.

She looked like an agent through and through, wavy hair neatly tucked behind her ears, pants suit that screamed federal government, wrinkles around her eyes from too little sleep and too much work. The officer undid his cuffs, patting him once on the back in silent reprimand for any sort of misbehavior he may or may not partake in before leaving him alone with this Swan woman and her partner.

“And I’m Federal Agent David Nolan,” the older man added, grinning wisely at Killian. “Mr. Jones, we’re prepared to offer you a deal in exchange for your help.”

“Shouldn’t I have my lawyer present for this?” Killian interjected, raising an eyebrow before smirking devilishly. “And besides, why would I help you? You’re the FBI, I presume.”

Emma pursed her lips tightly before exhaling in relief. “Because I know you, Killian. You don’t appreciate being lumped in with the drug dealers and the rapists and the murderers. Because you don’t consider yourself a criminal. You’re better than them.”

Killian grimaced at the thought of staying here any longer than need be, but he _was_ a criminal and this was where he _belonged_. Twenty years for his crime, fifteen if he behaved, and no one to care that he was locked up. “Love, I hate to be the one to tell you, but I’ve participated in some pretty dreadful things. I belong here.”

“I’m willing to bet there’s still some good inside of you, regardless of your family ties,” Emma continued, leaning over the table to attract his attention. “And orange isn’t really your color.” She winked mischievously, returning back to her previous position.

“You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?” Killian purred, licking his lips greedily, raking over the way her skin practically glowed against the fluorescent lighting, the way her hair created a small haven of sunshine despite the dark clouds still hovering outside the prison walls. “What could your kind possibly need my help with?”

David cleared his throat. “We believe your uncle, Edward Teach, is behind the kidnapping of Danny Boyle.”

“We know there’s an underlying feud between your uncle and Boyle,” Emma included, sighing as she opened the file containing information concerning Killian’s uncle. “And we have reason to believe your uncle will go after other members of Boyle’s clan. We’d like to prevent that from happening.”

“What does this have to do with getting me out?” Killian droned. He knew, if his uncle was intending on ridding Boston of Boyle’s family, he wouldn’t do it haphazardly, he’d wait until there was a way to do it cleanly, with no evidence and little to no mess. Then, he’d pay off cops, politicians, lawyers and the like to remain unprosecuted. It was no surprise his uncle had remained free for so long; he had the whole city of Boston in the palm of his hand. “I haven’t spoken to Uncle Eddie in years, as you probably already know.”

“Yes, we’re aware,” Emma responded quickly, drumming her fingers anxiously against the metal table. “And I know _why_.”

Killian’s expression suddenly softened at the realization that she knew his one weakness, the one thing that could collapse him in a moment’s notice, the one thing he tried night after night to just _forget_.

“What do you know about loss?” Killian mumbled, gritting his teeth to hide back the tears that brimmed unwillingly to the surface.

Emma reached out her hand, grasping his in an unwavering show of support (something that had her partner noticeably on edge). “I understand what it’s like to have someone you care about taken from you. And I know what it does to you.”

Killian pulled away quickly, clutching his hand close to his chest as if it had been burned, her touch too warm, too comforting and familiar as a swirl of emotions that reminded him of home and family rushed in and out like the tide. “Then you know I’m nothing but a vengeful man because of it, love.”

David hummed, glancing between Killian and Emma. “You help us put away your uncle, and you’ll bring him to justice for what he did to you.”

“The attorney general will grant you a conditional sentence. You can live outside prison walls for the duration of the case, sort of like a home confinement deal with some additional moderations.” Emma’s face relaxed, her eyes optimistic but fearful of him, of _him_ when the man she wished to put away was a thousand times more dangerous. “You’re important to us, to this case. Please, you’re our only hope.”

Her _only hope_. How could that be? He was worthless, completely useless now when it came to the ways of his uncle (the ways he’d refused to assist with until the pull to the dark became too strong to resist, the need for family and home making him weak enough to give in). It made him wonder how she got like this. Who did she lose that made her so scared, so _desperate_? She was a federal agent. The title alone should have made her tough and hard and _menacing_ but right now, as her bottom lip quivered awaiting his response, she looked like nothing more than a frightened little child. She looked like... like  _him_.

“What makes you think I’ll take that over _this_?” He flared his hand above his head, sardonically gesturing to the bare walls of the room and the dark skies still visible outside the meager window.

Emma’s eyes brightened for a brief moment, something like hope flaring in her irises, before it was quickly masked with a sense of urgency and mischief. “Because you, Killian, don’t want to stay here with the—”

“Drug dealers, rapists, and murderers,” Killian quickly interrupted, grinning. “I get it.”

David leaned his arms on the table. “What's your answer, Jones? Yes or no?”

Killian rubbed his hand across his face, scruff scratching his palm as he mulled over his response. If he helped them, then he’d be a snitch. And only God knew what happened to snitches (he'd witnessed what his uncle had _done_ to snitches, and the thought alone made him sick to his stomach). But if he succeeded in putting his uncle away, he could finally earn justice for all that his uncle had done to him, to his family, and quite possibly, to this agent whom he suddenly felt compelled to help. Something about her made him inexplicably drawn to her, as if helping her was what he was meant to do and he could sense the beginning of something blooming between them and growing quickly ( _vengeance_ , he thought, because he could recognize the wicked sparkle in her eyes, the nervous twitch of her legs under the table, the foot tapping lightly inside her shoe).

“I’ll be a snitch, you know that?” Killian reminded her, eyes locking onto her confident stare.

David nodded, realizing Emma’s own surprise at Killian’s lack of protest, and the way her gaze never left his. “We’re aware of that, which is why after this is all over, the federal government is willing to offer you witness protection.”

Killian shook his head, chuckling breathlessly. “You know that won’t help.”

“You have _my_ word,” Emma finally spoke, her voice cutting through his anxiety and warming him from the inside out. It was strange, but not unwelcomed. “You help us with this and you’ll be protected. I promise.”

He stared at her bewildered. _She’d_ protect him? The thought alone seemed ridiculous, and yet it made perfect sense.

“Your enthusiasm and naiveté is charming,” Killian chuckled, scratching behind his ear before rubbing the back of his neck. “But if you think imprisoning my uncle will deter other members of my family from coming after me, then it’s clear you aren’t as well-versed in our ways as I assumed you were. They will come after me, and both of you if you succeed. Hell, they’ll come after us even if we don’t.”

“Should I take that as a yes then?” Emma pressed, this time in a voice much firmer than a moment before, her strict agent persona concealing the little girl within. “Because our plane to Boston departs in half an hour, weather permitting, and I don’t have time to play games.”

Killian smirked smugly in response to her enthusiasm. “You’re playing with fire, love.”

Her steely façade broke, her lips suddenly quirking up into a warm smile. “Well, maybe I don’t mind getting burned.”


	2. Chapter 2

Emma kept glancing back towards Killian from her plane seat, her elbow leaning against the small fold-up table between her and the rambling David, who continued to go through the logistics of their stay in Boston. 

“Emma?” David eventually asked, startling her. “We have to fill Killian in about all this.”

Emma nodded. “Right, totally forgot about that.”

David leaned across the table, grasping Emma’s hand in his. He was much older than her, about her mother’s age, and despite the fact that there was nothing biologically connecting them, she’d considered him more like a father to her than a mere partner.

“We’ll get him, Em,” David assured her, nodding his head towards the back where Killian sat, sans orange jumpsuit and cuffs. “You should probably go talk to him. I’m too wrapped up in reading about this Danny Boyle character.”

“You trust him enough to sit alone with me?” Emma joked, standing up to look back at their convict of an accomplice who stared blankly out the plane window as the clouds passed by, white and fluffy and the exact opposite of the grey Chicago sky they left behind them.

David shook his head. “Not exactly. But we’re on a plane housing two federal agents and an air marshal. What’s the worst he could do?” he joked as he waved her away.

She huffed as she got up and made her way towards Killian, noticing exactly when he became aware of her impending presence as his eyes (which were blue, so _blue_ that her breath involuntarily hitched in her throat and her hands grew clammy and her knees felt like unsteady noodles) gleamed up at her from his window view, vivid and sparkling and practically drinking her in.

“A bit different than the view from your prison cell, I bet,” Emma teased, smiling until his expression faltered. She shook her head, realizing just how insensitive of a comment hers was. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to j—”

“It’s fine, Agent Swan,” Killian spoke, gesturing to the seat next to him for her to sit.

She sat hesitantly as he turned back towards the window, staring down at the miles of farmland they were flying over on their way to the city. “Please, call me Emma.”

“Swan fits you better,” he mumbled, antipathy laced within his tone. “Besides, you don’t want to be on a first name basis with the likes of me.”

She sighed, folding her hands neatly in her lap. “I need to go over some details for our time in Boston.”

“Ah, I assumed so,” he muttered, hands toying with a chain around his neck, hidden under his half-buttoned dress shirt.

Emma exhaled deeply. “We have a condo set up in Beacon Hill, that’s where we’ll be staying. The basement will house all of our equipment, and David will stay on the ground floor and the rest, well it’s yo... _ours_.”

“ _Ours_ , love?” he turned with a sly smirk on his lips, leaning over the armrest in between them. “What ever do you mean?”

Emma scoffed, rolling her eyes. “That’s the part I failed to tell you. But considering your reputation as the womanizer of your family, I figured you wouldn’t mind.”

He hummed contentedly, tongue darting out to lick his lips, her eyes darting between that and the mesmerizing blue of his gaze. She could still back out, still change the plans, but this was the only way. This was how they’d finally put Edward Teach behind bars and make him pay for what he’d done to not only her, but to countless others. Take one for the team, right?

“We’ll be posing as a ‘couple,’” Emma explained, bringing her hands up in mock quotations as if she was disgusted by the word itself. “We met in Chicago. I was an art dealer and you tried to steal some artwork from me. But you fell for me instead and charmed me into going on a date with you. We fell in love, got engaged quickly, and I urged you to move back home to your family.”

“Sounds plausible,” he said with a courteous nod of his head. “I’m almost certain my charms wouldn't be lost on a woman as breathtaking as you.”

She smiled graciously. “Good, because we’ll need to be believable if I’m going to infiltrate your family’s inner circle and find out where they’re hiding Boyle.”

“Ah, which means, I need to make amends with my dear uncle,” Killian groaned, his head coming down to meet his hand, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “Bloody hell.”

Emma grimaced, her lips forming into a frown. “Will that be a problem?”

“No, it shouldn’t be,” Killian shook his head, leaning back in the plane seat, staring mindlessly at the cabin ceiling. “In fact, I think he’ll be glad to have me back, especially if he’s looking to enact revenge on Boyle. I was always good with covering up evidence.”

“Alright, then,” she stated, relieved as she leaned back in the chair. “This might actually work.”

Killian turned to face her. “Especially with a pretty lady on my arm,” he taunted, licking his lips again when she darted her head towards him, eyes rolling on cue.

“Don’t get too cocky, Jones.” She stood up to head back towards David. “We’ll be landing in about an hour or so. Get some rest.”

“Wait, Swan!” He stood quickly, playful grin growing on his face, his eyes shining with sparkling amusement. He reached behind his neck, unclasping the chain from its place there, a small diamond slinking down the metal until it fell into his hand. “Have this.”

He held it out in front of him, gaze pleading with her to take it.

“A ring?” she blurted out, choking on the words as they left her lips. “What? Where did you... How on earth did you...”

Killian sighed, long and deep as he gestured firmly for her to take it. “It was my mother’s. She’s long gone, but if we’re going to do this and have my uncle believe it, we’ve got to do it right. He’d never believe me if I didn’t give you my mother’s wedding ring.”

“I don’t... I mean...” Emma stuttered, which caused Killian to step closer, gently reaching for her left hand and placing the diamond on her slender finger.

“See,” Killian murmured, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing the knuckle just above the stone. “It’s a perfect fit.”

She felt a jolt of warmth float through her body, his lips on her skin the most intoxicating sensation she’d felt in years. “I... I couldn’t,” she stammered, eyes locked onto the place where his lips had burned into her.

“We want this to be believable. Don’t we, Mrs. Jones?” Killian teased her, thumb brushing softly over her hand, his enchanting smile causing her to look up at him.

“Yes, uh... yes we do,” Emma stuttered, abruptly taking her hand back, eyes darting between the ring and his gaze, hopeful and slightly concerned, but overall content with the events that has transpired. She stumbled backwards, wandering back to her seat (although it was more like floating, but she’d never admit that).

She plopped down ungracefully, thankful that David had gotten up to discuss something with the pilot. She fidgeted with the ring, twirling it around her finger in an effort to calm herself, his words chanting over and over again in her mind in that accent that reminded her she was toying with danger: _Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Jones._

She let her fingers linger over the bright stone, glimmering against the sunlight dancing through her window before she stuffed it away in her pants pocket, swiftly picking up the case file once she caught sight of David exiting the cockpit. _This is just a case_ , she reminded herself as David rejoined her. _Just a case_.

* * *

The drive from the airport to the condo was awkward, to say the least. David spent most of it chatting with the driver up front while Emma stayed in the back with Killian. He’d barely spoken since they’d landed, constantly toying with the now empty chain around his neck, glancing between Emma and the surrounding city every so often.

Their ride took them straight through the heart of Southie, the neighborhood of his uncle, and she could swear she saw his face turn pale, his lip tugging in between his teeth as he fought the urge to show his emotions. His grip on the chain grew tighter as they stopped at a red light, his knuckles turning a ghostly white until they were moving again and the entire neighborhood was out of their view.

The driver got on the turnpike and headed towards the condo their boss had arranged for them in Beacon Hill, an upscale neighborhood with nuclear families, millionaires and politicians. They figured it fit his persona ( _their_ persona, she reminded herself) of the wealthy mobster who cashed in his winnings to settle down with his beautiful wife.

It was conveniently located on Beacon Street next to the Boston Common, overlooking lush green lawns and blooming cherry blossoms and a glistening lake with boat rides complete with a white swan at the helm. She saw Killian’s eyes dart from the boats to her as they passed, a gentle cock of his head to accompany the smug smirk on his lips. She shook her head, laughing only a little bit, because she really didn’t need him thinking she was actually pleased by his silent comment, or affected by him at all. The ring incident was enough for one day.

She heard him begin to speak her name, but her gasp as they arrived at what was to be their home and headquarters for the duration of the case halted his speech. The condo was faced with white brick, black trim outlining the windows. There were two black Mercedes sedans parked in front of them with Massachusetts plates, a modest garden sprawling up from underneath the windowsills, and of course, the view from the front rooms faced directly towards those damn swan boats.

David got out and walked in first, and once Emma saw the thumbs up from David through the car window, she hopped out of the SUV, making a beeline for the front door.

Killian rushed out of his side, blocking her way in. “Shouldn’t I be the one to carry you over the threshold into _our_ home?” he taunted, that smirk from before growing wider on her lips.

“We’re not actually engaged, Jones. Or married, for that matter,” she rattled off, yelping when he leaned down to pick her up, hoisting her up into his arms and carrying her past the doorframe.

He placed her down gently, fingers lingering on her spine, that _too blue_ gaze raking over her as if this was real, as if they were engaged and there was a wedding to plan and this was their home and everything was _simple_.

“In case anybody was watching,” he whispered into her ear. “Can’t be too careful around these parts. My uncle has eyes all over Boston. For all you know, our driver...” Killian saluted the man still seated behind the wheel of the SUV. “Could be one of my uncle’s henchmen, or worse, one of Boyle’s.”

“The department had background checks done on everyone,” Emma noted, smiling reassuringly at the driver who then proceeded to pull out into the busy street towards the closest corner. “And besides, we only have to pretend around your uncle. In here, it’s all business.” She looked back at Killian before David cleared his throat, causing her to flinch and back away from him instinctively.

“Tech stuff is all set up downstairs. And they sent our stuff over, Em,” David stated, appearing from the basement, stare settling on Killian, whose hand was still brushing the small of Emma’s back.

Killian removed it instantly, and Emma felt the warmth of his touch abandon her in exchange for a rush of cold air, the reality of their situation hitting her square in the face. There was a mission, a task at hand, a criminal to bring in, and whatever spark she was feeling (albeit comforting, was completely unprofessional and irresponsible) could be chalked up to the adrenaline of starting a new case.

“They sent over some things for you too, Killian,” David added before his phone rang, nodding in their direction apologetically as he wandered into the kitchen, mumbling to someone on the other end.

Emma moved into the living room, a bright white room with crown molding and two luxurious couches facing one another. There was a glass table in between and an ornate fireplace with a marble backing. The view looked out onto the park, the sound of children playing nearby and the smell of fresh spring air trickling in through the semi-opened windows.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Emma said, crashing down onto the soft couch cushion.

“Aye,” he responded, lying down on the opposing couch. He smiled weakly, the worn look she’d seen him wear upon their first meeting reappearing as he practically became one with the couch, his head dropping back to nestle into the pillows above his head. His eyes closed, a contented sigh escaping his lips.

She stayed quiet for a moment against the hushed murmur of outside and David’s phone call. “You ever, you know... _been_ to a place like this?” she asked, a nervous stammer accompanying her question.

He peeked one eye open, his hand going behind his head to prop himself up so he could see her more clearly. “You wouldn’t want to know,” he responded, offering her a stern look that only made her even more interested.

“Try me,” she retorted, leaning back on the couch, arms splayed out behind her.

He sat up, elbows planted firmly on his thighs, exhaling deeply before he began to speak. “My cousin Jefferson used to get into a lot of trouble up in these parts. He once got into some sort of bar fight over a girl. The other lad, some new cop, beat the bloody shit out of him, so my uncle went out to find him. Turns out he was some son of a politician, and of course that bothered my uncle like you wouldn’t believe. Rule number one, Swan: Uncle Eddie hates two things in this world, cops and politicians, so make sure you don’t mention either.”

“Got it.” She nodded along, seemingly entranced by the story. “Well, what happened next?”

Killian chuckled with a wide smile that seemingly washed away the years of pain, anguish and fatigue his expression usually held. “My uncle found out where he lived, over on Chestnut.”

“That’s around the block from here,” Emma pointed out, and he nodded.

“Aye, so I went to the lad’s house under the guise of my cousin, saying Jefferson wanted to apologize for the fight in hopes that he wouldn’t press charges,” Killian continued. “Lad’s father wasn’t home when I showed up, and so I... uh, well I bloodied him and then tied him to a chair and left him in the living room. Told him never to fuck with us again.”

Emma’s eyes widened at the conclusion, hand covering the gasp that quickly left her lips. “Oh my God, you did what?”

“Don’t worry, love. The lad’s fine,” he reassured her, waving his hand at her. “Got a handful of cuts and bruises, but nothing too severe.”

“I can’t believe you did that,” she mumbled, head shaking in disbelief.

Killian let a rogue smirk escape his lips. “What are you going to do, Swan? Arrest me?”

“No,” she quipped, squinting her eyes at him. “What happened to his father, the politician?”

“Well, he ran for mayor... and _won_ ,” he explained, chuckling again. “All because my uncle helped him. You see, love, when you follow Uncle Eddie’s rules, there’s no stopping what he’ll do for you. It’s when you wrong him that you have to worry.”

“Did you ever wrong him?” Emma asked, the air in the room suddenly growing dense as he stared up at her, eyes dark and slightly glossed over. She realized the intensity of her question, the personal line that she had probably crossed.

He stayed silent for a moment longer before shaking his head. “No, Swan. He wronged me.”

Emma bit her lip in contemplation. “I suppose you want revenge.”

“Revenge is one way of putting it,” he responded, a sinful glint appearing in his eyes as he licked his lips, his tongue poking at his cheek. “I like to call it vigilante justice.”

Emma rolled her eyes, prepared to make some sort of quip in response when David entered into the living room.

“That was Walsh,” David stated, as Emma shifted to face him. “He says he’ll be here tonight to brief us. We’ll need all the information we can get before you two go off and visit Teach.”

“Wait, who’s Walsh?” Killian asked, confused.

Emma turned back towards Killian. “He’s one of the detectives in the organized crime division of the Boston PD. He’s our liaison with the local law enforcement.”

“A _cop_?” Killian scoffed. “You’re getting help from a _cop_?”

“Something wrong with that?” David quipped, folding his arms over his chest.

Killian grinned mockingly. “You know my uncle has half of them in his pocket. Most of Boston’s cops are dirty, corrupt. And if they’re not, it’s because they haven’t met my uncle yet. You’d be wise not to trust him, love.”

“I bet Walsh would say the same about you,” Emma shot back. “But Walsh... _Chris_ is different. We’ve worked with him before. And we need a good guy in the department, _especially_ if there’s corruption going on.”

“I hope you’re right, Swan,” Killian huffed out.

* * *

_You’d be wise not to trust him, love._

It ran on repeat in Emma’s mind as the three of them sat at the marble island in the kitchen, eating Chinese food David had so kindly offered to order. How could Killian say such a thing when he was no better? He was a criminal, a member of the same family she was trying to disband and put away. How could he believe he had any right to tell her whom to trust when, at first glance, he was just as untrustworthy?

She looked up from her carton of noodles, catching his glance every so often, trying to ignore the uncomfortable dig of the diamond ring he’d gifted her in her pants pocket. Odd thing was, she _did_ trust him. Somehow, she could tell that deep down there was a man who wasn’t as bad as his family ties suggested. He was just an accomplice of a man far worse than he.

The doorbell rang, and David jumped up to get the door.

“That must be your cop friend,” Killian stated, grinning as he popped a chunk of chicken into his mouth, a grin of satisfaction gracing his features.

 _Smug bastard_ , she thought, huffing as she pushed back from the island to head towards the living room.

“Yeah, and we’ll be downstairs if you need anything,” she spoke from over her shoulder.

Killian placed down his carton, chopsticks clattering onto the countertop as he pushed his own stool back and rushed towards her. “Don’t you think I should accompany you to this meeting?”

Emma turned quickly. “No.”

“Are you sure, love?” he asked, eyes shimmering playfully as his grin only grew bigger. “I am your _partner_ if you think about it, and as such, I think I should be included.”

“You’re not my partner,” she reminded him, turning around again and marching towards the murmurs of Walsh chatting up David. “You’re an accomplice. An... _informant_.”

“Ah, but shouldn’t the _informant_ be _informed_?” Killian asked, circling around to her front.

She almost crashed into him, but his hands swiftly reached out for her hips, steadying her. Her hands landed on his chest, warm and firm and way too close as his face lingered within mere inches of hers.

“Swan,” he murmured in that intoxicating lilt of his, his breath warm across his face.

“I... uh...” She could feel that familiar jolt of warmth from the plane encounter and the doorway buzzing through her veins, his eyes boring into hers, pleading to be included.

“You really convinced him to help you?” Walsh asked, squinting his eyes in scrutiny at Killian as he let go of her. He sounded jealous, which would have made Emma laugh on any other occasion, but her mind was focused on the cold, empty feeling the loss of Killian’s touch left her with.

Killian scoffed, brushing a hand on his pants before offering it to Walsh. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Killian—”

“Jones. I know exactly who you are,” Walsh snapped back.

“Not only did I convince him to help us, I convinced him to pretend to be my fiancé,” Emma responded with a cheeky smile, shooting it in Killian’s direction before glaring it at Walsh.

Walsh’s eyes widened almost immediately. “You did _what?_ ” he croaked out, his voice unusually high.

Killian smirked derisively. “It’s only undercover, mate. She’s all yours once the case is finished.”

Walsh groaned in response. He was a younger detective, but he was usually so composed, so professional, so much more mature than his years of experience let on. It was amusing to see him squirm a little bit, especially at the hands of Killian Jones.

“She’ll be fine,” David stated, patting the detective on the back, leading him towards the basement steps and accompanying him down, Killian and Emma following close behind. “Don’t we have more pressing matters to discuss?”

“But he’s a... he’s a _criminal_ ,” Walsh argued in that high voice again as he sat down at the computer in the far corner of the room next to the conference table. “He’s done bad things, Emma. He’s not a good guy. Are you sure this is a safe idea?”

“If the lass says it’s a good idea, then it’s a good idea,” Killian spoke through gritted teeth, obviously irritated by Walsh’s resistance to his involvement. “You want to put my uncle away. And I’m the best you’ve got. Deal with it.”

“Look, Chris,” Emma began, sitting at the conference table, David at her side, Killian standing precariously against a nearby column. “I’m a big girl. I’m almost thirty. I will be _fine_. Now can be get down to business?”

“Alright then," Walsh mumbled, typing away as case information began to pop up on the large screen against the wall. "We have no leads on the whereabouts of Danny Boyle as of right now, but we’ve come to the conclusion that close members of Boyle’s family are the next intended targets,” he stated. “You’ve got the usual here, cousins, brothers, nephews and whatnot, but what's odd is the inclusion of sisters, nieces, his own wife.”

“Do you think Jones is just trying to send a message to Boyle?” David asked, tapping his chin in deliberation.

“It’s more than that,” Walsh continued, clicking to another window on the screen. “The intelligence we’ve gotten suggests Teach is after something, or else he would have just killed Boyle.”

Emma sighed as Killian nodded. “So this is more than just some dispute between two mob bosses? This is something _really_ personal.”

Walsh turned in his seat. “Yeah, far more personal than your typical mob feud, Em. There’s some concrete reason for this besides ‘stay off my turf.’”

“Well, then I guess that’s what we find out tomorrow,” Emma stated.

“Tomorrow?” Walsh inquired.

“Agent Swan and I are going to visit my uncle. It’s my cousin Ruby’s birthday so he’ll probably be having a celebration at the pub,” Killian explained, sauntering over to stand behind Emma. “Figure with a lovely woman on my arm, Uncle Eddie will have no choice but to allow my presence and invite me back in. He always had a soft spot for blondes.”

Walsh leaned in, as if he was telling some sort of secret. “Killian, you haven’t been in touch with your uncle in years. From what I hear, he’s still pretty bent out of shape over you leaving.”

“I was always his favorite nephew, though,” Killian insisted, wandering back to the column and leaning against it, arms folded across his chest. “And I’m the only blood relative that man has left.”

“But still,” Walsh continued.

Emma just sighed. “Look, just trust us please.”

“She’s right, Walsh,” David agreed. “She’ll have Edward wrapped around her finger in no time. I didn’t request her as my partner for nothing.”

Walsh nodded. “I’m just worried about you, Em. That’s all.”

Emma smiled. “I’ll be fine, okay?”

“Okay,” Walsh responded as he stood up, collecting his things as David led him towards the steps to the first floor.

Walsh was worried, that was understandable. He was good at what he did, but he was always too careful. He was a textbook detective, which she assumed organized crime needed in a city of this magnitude. But that wasn’t how Emma Swan worked, at least it wasn’t the agent she wanted to be, the one her partner molded and influenced throughout their time together.

“He seems awfully protective of you,” Killian spoke once both men were out of earshot.

“We all have a complicated history, the three of us.” Emma bit her bottom lip nervously.

“And what would that history be?” Killian asked, sitting in the seat next to Emma, the one David had just vacated.

“I’d rather not talk about it,” she responded, staring blankly at the table, her fingers fidgeting with one another. “Just that it affected us all in one way or another and I have every intention of making your uncle pay for it, if it’s the last thing I do.”

He leaned in, grasping her hand and entwining his fingers with hers. For a supposed criminal, he was surprisingly comforting, her heart rate slowing as soon as the warmth of his touch rushed through her again. She could count the amount of times he’d made her feel like that in the past twenty-four hours and she silently cursed herself because it felt like falling, falling, _falling._

“Who did my uncle take from you, love?” he murmured, hand reaching up to brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear before caressing down her shoulder.

She trembled, feeling his pulse beat steadily against her wrist, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against her skin as his other hand lingered on her shoulder. “My partner,” she whispered before wriggling her hand out of his, composing herself as she stood up. “You should get some sleep. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

She walked across the basement, made her way up two steps when she heard him speak, soft and faint and almost _broken_.

“He took someone from me too, Swan.”

She turned, saw him exhale a sigh of relief.

“I know.”


	3. Chapter 3

Emma took a deep breath as she exited the car, smoothing over the flowing blue strapless sundress hanging loosely against her frame.

_The Queen Anne Tavern,_ she read to herself off the sign on the front of the brick façade of Killian’s uncle’s pub. The building itself blended in with the character of a bustling spring afternoon in Southie, almost as if it came straight from the ordinary beginnings of some Hollywood film with a much darker tale of crime and bloodshed to tell. It was all too surreal, to say the least.

She fidgeted a little with the skirt of her dress, aware that Killian had noticed when he offered her a wide grin and a curious waggle of his eyebrows.

“Pistol, strapped to my thigh,” she whispered after pulling him closer to keep up the appearance of a young couple in love, fingers mindlessly toying with the collar of his red plaid button down shirt.

“Are you bloody serious?” he exclaimed, a little louder than he intended.

“I’m just _being careful_ ,” she explained, mocking Walsh’s tone from the prior evening. “Besides, the safety’s on. Not like I’m going to shoot myself in the thigh.”

Killian shook his head, “No, leave it in the car. You won’t need it.”

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” Emma asked in an astonished tone. He cocked his head to the side, raising an eyebrow insistently. She opened the car door, plopping back down into the passenger’s seat to discreetly remove the pistol with a groan, placing it into the glove compartment.

She got out, slamming the door shut in frustration before marching past him, but Killian followed close behind, jogging a little to keep up.

“Don’t be such a grouch, _Swa_ —”

“We’ve been over this, Killian.” She swiftly spun around, hand held out in front of her to stop him. “I’m Emily Sharp, your fiancée.”

“Emily. _Emily_.” He shook his head in disgust. “It doesn’t suit you quite as well, but I guess it will have to do.”

He stared at her for a moment longer than necessary, a small glimmer of _something_ in his gaze (and the fact that she couldn’t tell if he was putting on a front for the sake of the investigation or actually offering her the soft expression she’d come to recognize was something she didn’t want to think about, let alone analyze at a time like this).

“Just don’t forget it, okay?” She pivoted, sauntering into the pub in a flash of blue cotton and golden waves and god, if the heat of his gaze burning into her skin was any indication, pretending to be an engaged couple with _him_ would be a piece of cake.

Piece of _freaking_ cake.

* * *

It was like an overwhelming rush of memories when they entered the pub, memories that Killian thought he’d pushed to the dark recesses of his mind, only accessible at the bottom of a bottle of rum or whiskey or whatever alcohol he could get his hands on to quell the demons of his past. The pub smelled of pine, whiskey and beer and he shook his head at the dated décor (ornate emerald booths, dark wooden bar, black molding surrounding the doors and windows, the dimmed lighting a stark contrast to the sunny afternoon) realizing quickly that the bar, lined with its usual never-ending amount of liquor, wouldn’t be enough to mask the uneasiness overcoming him.

He scanned the room, noticing the familiar faces that seemed to glow like beacons in the crowd. There was his cousin Ruby, a tall slender girl with flowing brown hair (and that red streak his uncle absolutely hated) in the corner nuzzling up to some blonde man. His recently released cousin Jefferson, a thin man with that distinguished crazy look, one his uncle said he got from the other side of the family, was sidled up to some girl at the bar, nursing his usual gin and tonic. His various younger cousins were running around the place as if the pub were a playground and not the gathering place for the city’s most brutal criminals. And then there was his dear Aunt Maura, a stout woman with chubby cheeks and curly brown hair and a smile that could cheer you up in an instant, graciously hosting the event with the elegance he’d depended upon in those years growing up in Southie.

It was all a past he thought he’d put behind him, thought he’d _run_ _away_ from, and now he was surrounded with its very essence like some sick, twisted _nightmare_.

He felt Emma’s hand link with his as he stood, mouth almost agape at the very nature of what this meant as his eyes scanned the room for _him_ , sensing Emma’s own stare wander off to do the very same thing.

“Oh my God, Killian?” he heard in a high pitched squeal, his cousin Ruby ditching her supposed date to rush towards him. He let go of Emma’s hand to catch Ruby’s embrace, his cousin’s arms linking behind his neck and pulling him in for a tight hug. “My, my. Never thought I’d see you again.”

Killian chuckled. “Aye, never thought I’d find myself here again either.”

Ruby smiled, that big smile that he remembered from their childhood, when she’d tease some boy into driving her around or buying her clothes or just plain—ah, all the things he didn’t have the stomach to think about because she was like his little sister and damn if he was still a little protective of her all these years apart.

Ruby glanced between Emma and Killian and then Emma’s left hand, where his mother’s diamond rested comfortably on her ring finger, the dusty light of the pub catching its reflection as she reached her hand out to shake Ruby’s.

“Emily, Emily Sharp. But you can call me Em,” Emma stated, cool and confident, making Killian calm almost instantaneously.

Ruby shook her hand, smiling politely. “Ruby Lucas. This chump’s cousin.”

“Oi!” he shouted, eyebrows rising mile-high in response, causing both girls to chuckle.

“So, fiancée, I’m assuming?” Ruby pressed with a hopeful grin.

“Yep.” Emma smiled, nestling into Killian when he wrapped an arm around her frame, nuzzling her closer to his chest.

“Oh my God! Get out!” Ruby shouted, punching Killian’s arm. “You got _this one_ to agree to get hitched? You must be a miracle worker!”

Killian pretended to wince in pain as Emma laughed, bright and cheery and the exact opposite of everything this place stood for. If there was anyone who could bring light back into this dreaded hell, it would be her (and it already felt like she’d brought some sort of light back into his life, his pathetic excuse for one suddenly repurposed by her presence).

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t easy. Trust me,” Emma joked, squeezing at Killian’s side playfully as he bumped her hip in protest.

It seemed natural, _real_ for a brief moment as Emma and Ruby continued to converse about his “relationship,” hitting all the correct points of their supposed story. It all appeared too easy though, and that’s exactly when he saw him, sitting in the darkest corner of the pub in one of the booths surrounded by several older men, Killian’s other uncles and family friends.

Ruby’s date had wandered over there as did Jefferson, and it seemed like they were having some sort of meeting, one Killian used to be a part of until he abruptly left all those years ago (one they must have had before his uncle wronged him and took away the one string that kept him attached). His uncle looked much older, wrinkles written across his face, bushy black scruff lining his jaw in uneven patches, tousled black hair atop his head, eyes worn and tired.

It only took a moment for him to peer up from his whiskey to lock onto Killian and it felt as if the air had abruptly swept out of Killian’s lungs, his hands growing clammy and his body going stiff. His mouth opened slightly as if to speak but his throat felt dry, his lips unable to form the words he needed to say. He watched as his uncle stood up, excusing himself from the conversation to walk over to Killian. His stride was slow, calculated, the work of a man who’d spent decades trying to instill fear in an entire community with a single movement.

The pub grew silent as Edward approached Killian, hushed murmurs from the parents of the children ushering them to come closer, gasps from the women and groans of disgust from the men. He’d never been as frightened of his uncle as he was right now. He could kill him, could beat the ever-loving shit out of him, he could hurt Emma (that last thought made his stomach lurch into his throat, because even though she could handle herself, she was no match for this man and he suddenly felt compelled to protect her, fake engagement or not).

He stood in front of Killian, studying his nephew, jaw clenched as he regarded the one who abandoned his family when everything fell apart. This could be the end of Swan’s case, the end of their mutual revenge against the very man exhaling his liquor-doused breath into the space between them.

His uncle’s mouth moved slightly before he moved forward, grabbing Killian in the one action he did not expect in any imagining of this situation—a _hug_.

“Killian!” Edward shouted, grasping his nephew tighter. He pulled back, squeezing Killian’s shoulders and clapping them.

Killian stood dumbfounded, feeling Emma’s concerned gaze on his profile, the still quiet of the room closing in on him. “I... uh... um...”

“What brings you to our neighborhood, my boy?” Edward exclaimed, his familiar Boston accept peeking through each and every word (it sounded like _home_ , and it shouldn’t, it most definitely _shouldn’t_ ).

“I think I can answer that question,” Emma finally chimed in when Killian swallowed hard. She held up her left hand, and Edward grabbed it, inspecting the diamond on her finger. “We’re engaged!”

Edward darted his gaze between the diamond and Emma and then locked onto Killian with his eyebrows raised in silent question. Killian nodded, still unable to speak as Edward pulled Emma into a hug, the entire room’s cue to finally breathe as they erupted into a raucous roar of applause and cheers and whoops and hollers, Emma beaming like the blushing bride-to-be she played so well.

“My boy is going to be married? My _Killian_?” Edward bellowed with the hugest grin Killian had ever seen.

Killian nodded as Emma moved to place her hand on his back, providing just enough comfort and warmth to give him the strength to continue. “Aye, we’re to be wed. This is my fiancé, Emily Sharp.”

“She’s quite the beauty,” Edward murmured, picking up her hand again to kiss her knuckles gently. He turned to Ruby, gesturing for her to take Emma. “Why don’t you get a drink for this here sweetheart while I get Killian reacquainted?”

Ruby nodded, grabbing Emma’s hand. “Come on, Em. What do you drink?”

Emma began to answer as she wandered away, her warmth and presence gone completely as Killian followed his uncle over to the booth. This may be a birthday party, but there was still business to be discussed, and now, for the investigation’s sake, Killian would be included in it.

_This_ was exactly what he’d run away from...

* * *

“So explain to me how you met Killian,” Ruby asked, sipping on her cranberry and vodka, eyes wide and eager as she sat at the bar, legs swinging childishly as she sat on her stool.

Emma chuckled, taking a sip of the beer she’d ordered (agents rarely drank much else besides hard liquor, and she wasn’t about to down whiskey or rum in such a precarious situation, she _was_ on the job after all). “Well, I’m an art dealer back in Chicago and—”

“Oh, you’re from Chicago?” she interrupted, clapping her hands in excitement. “I’ve always wanted to go.”

Emma shook her head. “It’s always gloomy and dark. Trust me, you wouldn’t like it.”

Ruby frowned a little bit, taking a sip of her drink again. “So, was Killian a client?”

“You could say that,” Emma responded with a roll of her eyes. “At least that’s what I thought at first. Later on, I found out he was trying to steal from me. But I guess he fell for me before he could go through with the crime.”

Ruby’s mouth formed a small “oh” as she listened. “So you fell in love with a thief? Weren’t you angry at him?”

“A little bit,” Emma answered, scanning the crown for Killian, her eyes locking onto his figure, looming over the booth as if he was on the outside looking in. “But sometimes, love works in mysterious ways. Guess I could see the man beneath all that.”

Emma sighed for a moment because underneath that steely exterior, she could sense there was something else beyond the vengeance and the anger, something she recognized in herself ( _abandonment, betrayal, loss,_ she thought).

“Did he... I mean, has Killian...” Ruby stuttered, idly stirring her pinky in her drink.

“Did he what?” Emma cocked her head to the side.

“Did he tell you anything about our family?” Ruby whispered, leaning in as if it was a secret. Her breath smelled of vodka and fruit and she swayed a little on the barstool as she chewed on the straw in her glass. “Did he tell you what we are?”

Emma bit her lip nervously, shaking her head. “No, I suppose he didn’t, but I think I might have an idea or two.”

Ruby looked around anxiously, before leaning back in. “My uncle, Uncle Eddie,” she whispered, cocking her head in his direction. “Well he’s sort of in the mob.”

“The _mob_?” Emma asked, eyebrows rising in question.

“Yeah, the _mob_ ,” Ruby droned on, as if this was the most mundane aspect of their family. “Anyway, my uncle practically runs Boston. Killian used to be his right hand man until...”

“Until what?” Emma pressed. She knew there was some sort of reason for Killian’s obvious dread concerning his uncle and for his abrupt departure from a surefire future as a criminal. She didn’t know Killian well enough to ask at this point, just that the information they’d received on him prior to the case said it had something to do with a close relative and it broke him enough that he left his family almost immediately.

“Oh, it’s really not my story to tell,” Ruby mumbled, chugging whatever was left in her drink. “Either way, I’ll bet Uncle Eddie is glad to have Killian back. We’ve all missed him since he left.”

She glanced back in Killian’s direction and it was as if he could feel her gaze on him because he looked up from the conversation, offering her a warm smile and a cheeky wink before returning his attention back to his uncle.

She and Ruby continued to talk for a while, about her old job, Chicago, the excitement of being part of such a huge family, her job prospects in Boston because she fully intended to make Killian stay here. Ruby chatted about her boyfriend, some man named Victor Whale who she met in a club downtown, her cousin Jefferson and his inability to hold a girlfriend and the juvenile antics of a much younger Killian. Those stories she liked the most, smiling widely as Ruby recounted tales of Killian in high school, the only eighteen year old with a full beard and a lilting accent, which got him several dates with college girls and a ton of one-night stands (but as far as Ruby knew, Emma, or rather _Emily_ , was his first and only serious relationship).

“I see she’s talking your ear off,” Killian teased as Ruby stood up to slap his shoulder, groaning when she missed twice.

“I was just getting ready to tell Em about the time you tried to skinny dip off the Lagoon Bridge at the Common,” Ruby said with a mischievous smirk.

“You didn’t?” Emma’s mouth fell open in astonishment as Killian wrapped his arms around Emma’s waist. It was comforting and natural and he was _way too good_ at this all of a sudden.

“I remember it like it was yesterday,” Ruby began, holding a hand to her chest melodramatically. “This goon was a senior in high school. It was embarrassing to say the least. My entire middle school talked about it for months.”

His head fell to the crook of Emma’s neck, grumbling against her skin. “I was drunk, love. And the girl I was with, Milah—”

“ _Girl_?” she croaked out, eliciting a giggle from Ruby. She wasn’t jealous (wasn’t jealous at all, this was _fake_. Fake, fake, _fake_ ).

“Aye, there were girls before you,” he taunted, bumping her head casually with his cheek. “And she was very convincing, sorority girl that she was.”

“You are incorrigible,” Emma grumbled, feeling the warmth of his breath on her skin.

“You don’t even know what that word means,” he murmured, lips brushing across her cheek. He placed a quick peck there, something she wasn’t expecting at all and she desperately hoped the red creeping up her neck and blossoming on her cheeks wasn’t nearly as visible as it felt.

The front door of the pub flew open in a violent bang, causing Killian to jolt back at the sound, his arms letting go of Emma’s waist. Emma swiveled on her stool, catching a tall, slender man with brown hair walking into the pub. His arms were held out on either side of him and a crew of men followed in behind him. Killian moved instinctually to cover Emma and Ruby as Emma reached out for the younger girl’s hand.

“What a lovely family function!” the man exclaimed, gazing through the crowd, searching for someone when his gaze met Killian’s, a derisive smirk growing on his lips. “Oh my, I see our dear friend Killian is back in town.”

“What do you want?” Killian stated, blocking the man’s view of Emma and Ruby.

The man sniggered, looking back at his friends before turning back around. “I want to speak with Teach. I’m here about my uncle.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you,” Killian sneered, gritting his teeth as the man stepped closer. Killian quickly nodded at his Aunt Maura in the corner, who shuffled all of the younger children and other family members out of the pub, guiding them past the crew still hovering by the exit. “As you can see, Uncle Eddie isn’t here at the moment. He’s _busy_. Perhaps you could come back at a better time.”

“Is that a lady friend I see?” the man asked, changing the subject. He grinned at Emma before glancing at her left hand. “Oh, more than just a friend. Betcha she’s all that and more in the bedro—”

“Shut your bloody _fucking_ mouth before I shut it for you, mate,” Killian threatened, towering over the man, fists clenching at his sides.

“Mate? I assumed we were on a first name basis,” he leered back, not even the least bit intimidated by Killian. “Peter, by the way. Peter Boyle,” he said, extending his hand for Emma to shake, frowning when she didn’t and running his hand through his hair thereafter.

“Fine, _Peter_. Leave her _alone_.” Killian firmly pressed both of his hands on Peter’s chest, shoving him backwards.

Peter shook his head, snickering quietly to himself before he lunged forward, ramming Killian against the bar. He held his arm tightly over Killian’s throat causing him to grimace in pain. “I’d really watch it if I were you, Killian. You see, your fucking uncle took mine, and I fully intend to take something in return.”

“Really now?” Killian spoke in a strained voice as his face turned an odd mix of red and purple. “I’m sure if you took me, nobody would bloody  _care_.”

Peter smirked, pushing down harder on Killian’s throat. “Really? Not even your whore of a fiancée here? I’m sure my men could find some use for her should you be otherwise occupied.”

Killian closed his eyes for a moment before regaining his strength and kneeing Peter in the crotch, taking Peter’s arm and drawing it behind him, tackling him to the ground face first.

“Fine! You want to fuck with me?” Killian shouted, kneeling back to roll the man over before punching him straight in the jaw. “Eh, Peter? You want to talk bloody fucking nonsense about her?”

Peter winced in pain as Killian doled out blow after blow, his face seemingly gleaming with pride and malicious intent. There was a flurry of noise and movement from the adjoining hallway as Jefferson and that boyfriend of Ruby’s appeared, a crowd of men behind them as they darted towards Peter’s friends, the pub turning into an all-out brawl within seconds. Emma hugged Ruby close to her, shielding her as best she could as Jefferson pushed off a guy charging at him, Victor knocking someone over the head with a chair.

It was then that she saw Peter link his leg around Killian’s waist, turning him over and pinning him down to drive his fist into Killian’s nose. Killian groaned, blood gushing from his nose and down his mouth and chin, his body growing lifeless on the floor as his ability to counteract Peter's strikes diminished with each repetition.

Emma let go of Ruby, lunging forward to tug violently at the back of Peter’s shirt, pulling him off of Killian and aiming a right hook at his chin. He staggered backwards, but Emma grabbed onto his shoulders, executing a swift knee strike to his lower ribcage. Peter immediately grasped his abdomen in pain as Emma began to move to ready herself for another hit when a larger man snatched her, forcefully entrapping her against the bar, awkwardly trying to hike her dress up her thighs.

She tried to fight, hearing Ruby’s shrieks as Peter seized her wrists, pulling her along with him and mumbling, “You damn broads don’t know your place.”

Killian forced himself up, ungracefully attempting to fight the two men singlehandedly as Emma continued to clamor for purchase against the larger man’s chest. Killian reached for the man’s shoulder, striking his head with his clenched fist causing the man to collapse over onto the bar top.

“You want to know where your uncle is, eh?” a voice boomed from somewhere in the pub and Emma gasped when she saw him, looming in the dark shadows. He looked every bit the menacing mobster she’d come to know, the exact opposite of the man who’d hugged them earlier.

His hands were clenched at his side as he strode over to the bar, eyes locked onto Peter. The entire room went silent almost instantaneously, men moving away from one another as Peter let go of Ruby.

Edward cocked his head to the side, his stride full of swagger and bravado and a tinge of terror. “You really thought it was that simple. Just come visit me and fucking _ask_?”

Peter shook his head lightly, then bowed it in shame. “I just... I didn’t know you were here. I thought... Killian said you were...”

Edward seized Peter by the throat, holding him up so that he lingered above the floor. “You thought you could come in here and threaten _my family_?”

“I’m sor- sorry,” Peter croaked out, gulping loudly, feet swinging wildly in the air.

“I don’t think I heard you, son,” Edward leered, smirking as Jefferson sidled up beside him.

“I’m sorry!” Peter screeched.

Edward let out a low roar of a chuckle, Jefferson wringing his hands together as they watched the young man whimper in pain before Edward swiftly released him, scoffing as Peter collapsed to the floor, grasping for his throat and wheezing uncontrollably. Edward gave one nod of his head to Jefferson, who grinned subtly before nodding in silent agreement.

Killian limped towards Emma, placing a hand tentatively on her back. “You should go. Take Ruby with you,” Killian began to whisper to Emma as he began guiding both women toward the back hallway. “This won’t be pretty.”

Emma stopped, standing firm. “No, I can _help_.”

“No, you can’t,” he insisted, pushing her in the direction Ruby had disappeared to, his hand trembling on the small of her back.

“But I want to!” She turned around, trying to plead with him as she heard the familiar echo of a brawl ring out from the main room of the pub. Her feet were marching backwards down the hallway, her hands held out in supplication. “I can help. You know that, so would you just le—”

“Would you just bloody listen to me and fucking _go_! _”_

He reached out for her wrists, gripping them in a bruising fashion, fingers pressing down relentlessly on her delicate skin. His brow furrowed, his jaw clenched and he looked wicked and terrifying and it was nothing like the night before when his eyes scanned her face and his thumbs brushed softly against her skin. He looked like he was filled with the uncontrollable rage she’d only seen in the likes of his _uncle_.

Her body shuddered under his gaze before he let go of her wrists. She simply nodded, pivoting hesitantly to catch up with Ruby. “ _Fine_. Be like that.”

“I’m sorry, I just... I didn’t mean to... I...” he grumbled as the sound of shattering glass resonated down the hallway.

“Forget it. Just go back to your fight,” she shot back, quickening her pace, trying to disregard the nagging feeling in her stomach that she was in fact angry with him, that he’d upset her and that shouldn’t matter because this was _fake_ , right? “I’ll take care of Ruby. Don’t worry.”

“ _Swan_ , I—”

“Just go.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Goddamnit Em!” Walsh shouted as he banged down on the marble counter in the middle of the kitchen.

He was fuming mad from the day's events, and to say things had gotten out of hand at the pub was an understatement.

Peter had been beaten and left unconscious on the floor when the police arrived to break up the fight and arrest those involved. Killian, for the most part, stayed out of the more intense parts of the brawl, keeping the larger men away from the hallway that led to Ruby and Emma’s hiding spot, which left Jefferson, Victor and the rest of his uncle's men to do the brunt of the dirty work. Regardless, they were all taken down to the precinct and booked.

Walsh had shown up with the second round of police, doing his job as the lead detective of the organized crime division. He interviewed a slew of witnesses (all Peter's henchmen) who claimed a young blonde had caused Killian to attack Peter in retaliation for his lewd comments and the woman in question had also assaulted both Peter and another man.

It was all written off as self-defense and Walsh couldn’t press any charges beyond disturbing the peace and worthless misdemeanors that would never hold up in court, especially in Boston, of all places.

“Do you realize the strings I had to pull to get your boyfriend here out of jail?” Walsh barked, face strained and red with jealousy and frustration. He paced back and forth, running his hand through the mop of hair on top of his head. “And to get those guys to not charge you both with assault?”

“First of all, he’s _not_ my boyfriend!” Emma asserted, finger wagging at him. “And you didn’t have to do any of that!”

Walsh scoffed, rubbing his chin. “Of course I did!”

“How did you get him out so quickly?” David interrupted quietly, trying to calm the tense mood.

Walsh stepped around the counter, his stare zeroing in on Killian. “Told him his loving fiancée came to bail him out. I can only hope his buddies believed it.”

“I’m sure they did,” David reassured everyone in the room.

“You know, what you did was plain stupid, Killian,” Walsh scolded, finger pointing at Killian as he inched closer. “You could have backed down, could have let your damn uncle take care of it, could have just let it the hell go!”

“Mate, don’t try and argue with me,” Killian sneered, an evil glint apparent in his eyes. “You’ll live to regret it.”

“Oh really? You’ll assault a cop?” Walsh shoved forcefully at Killian’s chest. “Because I’ll just throw your sorry ass back in jail.”

“Walsh, knock it off,” David reprimanded, lunging forward to pull Walsh back. “We’ve been through enough today.”

“Isn’t that what your kind does though? Isn’t it?” Walsh retorted, voice rising in conflict. “Always busting at the first sign of conflict? You’ll take Emma down with you if you keep this up!”

Killian’s jaw clenched as he elbowed past both Walsh and David. “I don’t have to bloody stay for this defamation of my character.” He turned to offer a sardonic bow towards Emma. “Goodnight, Swan.”

Walsh shook David off, smoothing out the crinkles of his suit jacket. “Look, I don’t care if Emma wants to play house with the convict, I just can’t have him screwing up _my_ case.”

“Excuse me!” Emma roared, eyes widening as she marched towards him.

His case? _His case?_ Last she remembered this case was _hers_. Her department didn’t even want her to investigate this, but her three years of research proved otherwise, deeming her the only agent fit for running an investigation against Edward Teach.

If _anything_ , Walsh was just an added accessory to what was _her_ battle, someone to give _her_ an inside edge when _she_ needed it. _She_ was the federal agent here, which held more weight than lieutenant of the Boston PD, and if anything, _she_ was his superior on this case. _She_ gave the orders, not him.

“This is not _your_ case,” she shouted, fists clenched at her sides. “ _You_ are a freaking liaison. This is _my_ case and _my_ choice. So don’t you dare drag Killian into this.”

“Em, you’re absolutely crazy if you think this is actually going to work, you know that?” Walsh argued, looming over her. “Jones will screw this up somehow and you’ll _lose_.”

She could see David from her peripheral vision moving towards her, her stiff body language trying to let him know she could handle an overexcited detective like Walsh (especially if she could fight with the likes of the Boyles and the Teaches and Killian Jones himself).

“It’s going to work,” Emma stated confidently.

“You’ll get yourself killed first,” Walsh shot back.

Emma scoffed. “Maybe I want to get killed!” She shoved at Walsh’s chest. “Maybe I want to feel something other than pain and regret for the first time in three fucking years!” She pushed again, driving his back up against the kitchen island. “Maybe I’m fucking tired of feeling numb and broken. Huh? Did you ever think of that? Did you, Walsh? _Did you_?”

“ _Emma_ ,” David whispered as his hand cupped her elbow, tugging her away from Walsh. “Walsh, I think you should go.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right,” Walsh mumbled, running his hand nervously through his hair. “Em, I’m... I’m... sor—”

“Get out,” Emma ordered, watching as David guided Walsh towards the door, nodding goodnight to Emma.

Emma finally exhaled, her heart pounding a loud, unsteady rhythm in her chest, her head throbbing with the weight of feelings she’d let boil over to the surface. The truth was, regardless of the smile she showed or the poise and confidence she displayed as an agent, she was nearly _dead_ on the inside. Ever since that night, when they lifted his car from the harbor, Emma felt like her heart had jumped from her chest of its own accord and shattered into a million irreparable pieces because she wasn’t enough... she wasn’t enough to convince him to _stay_.

Her eyes felt warm and wet, tears falling uncontrollably, a broken sob catching in her throat. Her vision was fuzzy and the room felt as if it was titling on its axis. She struggled to recall if she’d hit her head at some point during the fight earlier as she reached out for the wall, guiding herself towards the stairs and carefully taking them one at a time.

She staggered down the hallway past Killian’s room, noticing the light was still on underneath his door, but ignoring the stilted whisper in her ear to go to him. She entered her bedroom, slamming the door shut, rifling through her drawers for pajama shorts and a camisole, quickly changing into them before stumbling to her bed.

She propped herself at the edge of it, holding her arms close to her chest, slowly rocking herself as the whisper to go to him, to let him help her rang louder in her ear. Killian was right down the hall, _right down the hall_ , and while she knew she shouldn’t be thinking about him, she _was_. And while she was still angry with him for earlier, every fiber of her being told her to _forgive_ him.

“Swan?” she heard as if on cue. “Swan, you alright?”

“Go away!” she shouted through tears, tossing one of her heels at the door.

“Are you sure?” he asked, and she stopped crying for a moment, took notice of his nervous shuffle outside the door, his hand jiggling the doorknob before he opened the door and entered uninvited.

“I told you to go away,” Emma spat, standing up to march towards the window to sit on the sill and stare blankly out onto the Boston Common.

Killian nodded, scratching behind his ear as he stepped closer. “I know but I never got to thank you for earlier, for saving me. I didn’t exactly respond in the most gracious manner.”

Emma sniffled, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand, keeping her stare locked onto the park.

He shuffled a little closer to her, careful to keep his distance though. “And before I forget, Ruby called me while I was in my room. Uncle Eddie gifted her with four tickets to a Red Sox game for tomorrow afternoon. She wants us to accompany her and Victor, since your first night here was so chaotic.”

“Okay.”

He grinned widely. “I told her the missus and I would be delighted, if that’s alright by you.”

“Okay,” she said with a slow nod of her head.

“Swan, are you going to say anything besides _‘okay’_?”

She exhaled before she jumped up to face him (and God, when did he get so damn _close?_ ). “You had no right telling me to go!”

She watched as the gentle expression on his face hardened, his body stiffening almost instantly.

“I could have helped! You and I both know that.” Her voice was rising with irritation. “And if I had, maybe your ass wouldn’t have ended up in jail like the rest of your goddamn family!”

“That’s how my family works, Swan!” Killian rattled off, hand waving in between them. “Did you not see my aunt leave the pub?”

“Well, that’s not how I work,” she disputed, a slight crack in her tone.

Killian rubbed his face over with his hand. “If you want to be a part of my family, infiltrate them and have them accept you, then you’d better start playing by their rules.”

She felt the frustration rush through her in an instant, the anger from her confrontation with Walsh and his altercation with her from earlier propelling her forward.

“And if you want to be involved in this investigation, I’d suggest you start playing by _mine_. _I’m_ the agent here. _I’m_ in charge. Not you, not Walsh, not even David. _Me_.” She poked at his chest with her forefinger. “You, Killian, you are nothing but a criminal who's a phone call from going back to federal prison. Is that understood?”

The words spit out faster than she could think about them and she watched as his eyes glossed over, his shoulders sinking into his frame.

He backed away for a moment as his brow furrowed. “So that’s all I am to you then? Just some pawn in your twisted game for revenge?”

“No, you are someone with valuable information that I can’t get otherwise, but...” Her arms rose above her head in annoyance. “But I don’t need you bossing me around like I’m going to be your  _little freaking wife_!”

“But that’s what we’re supposed to be, Swan!” He marched back towards her causing her to stumble ungracefully into the window, his arms trapping her against it. “That’s the notion _we’re_ supposed to be giving off. So forgive me if I was trying to be authentic.”

“Authentic? You think getting physical with me is being _authentic_?” she shrieked, noticing how intimately close he was, his faint musk of sweat and cologne dulling her senses.

“No, but instructing you to stay back _is_ and last I looked, you shouldn’t be giving off the impression that you’re a federal agent,” Killian maintained through gritted teeth, his menacing expression honing in on her, causing her to tremble. “So next time, you _stay back_.”

“The last time I stayed back, my partner died,” she argued. “You are nothing but a criminal and I don’t have to listen to you. This whole investigation is purely business. This whole relationship thing is _fake_.”

“‘ _Fake’_ says the woman who tried to save my life earlier,” he taunted, lips parting for a moment as his gaze darkened.

Emma rolled her eyes. “I did that because it’s my fucking job!”

“So you feel absolutely nothing?” he challenged, face dangerously close to hers, his tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“No.”

“Don’t lie to me, Swan,” he continued, his breath hot across her face, his hand releasing its place beside her to brush a loose wave behind her ear. “You’re something of an open book.”

She flinched, attempting to move away from his touch. “I already told you. There’s _nothing here_.”

His hand swiftly cupped her cheek, fingers running through her hair as he crashed his lips onto hers, and she froze for a moment as the soft press of his lips sent unexpected warmth shooting through her body, the feeling positively too much and most definitely not enough as she tried to keep up with his pace, his other hand gripping her hip tightly, pulling her into his broad frame.

She let out a breathy moan as she reluctantly melted into his touch, letting him nudge her head to the side to deepen the kiss briefly before her mind caught up with her actions, her hands pressing on his chest as she pulled her lips away and pushed him back.

Emma stared up at him in bewilderment before she lifted her hand to slap him. “You son of a bitch.”

“Goodnight, Agent Swan,” he grumbled behind a smirk, bowing like a fool before turning slowly to exit, closing her door quietly behind him.

He kissed her. He _kissed_ her. He just _fucking_ kissed her.

Her fingers lifted up to touch her lips before staring at the closed door and then down at her left hand, that damn diamond ring glistening against the light of her bedroom. She twirled it around her finger before she took it off, brushing over the silver band and tracing the cut of the diamond with her fingertips.

It was _fake_ : the relationship, the ring, everything about him. It wasn’t hers to have. It never was and it never would be.

And yet, something in that kiss made her second-guess all of it, the word _fake_ sounding like an absolute joke in her mind.

* * *

“That must be Ruby!” she could hear Killian call from the living room, prompting David to head down to the basement from their spot in the kitchen.

She hadn’t talked to Killian since last night, the morning routine awkward and edgy, causing David to ask if something else had happened after Walsh left (she responded with a clear-cut no, because the last thing she needed was an irate David going after Killian for kissing her). But when she finally drifted off to sleep, the pang in her chest from those memories of her partner seemed to lessen in weight, the usual nightmares of the car and the harbor and _him_ , David holding her back because there was still a chance, and doctors work miracles...

No, for the first time in a long time, she had a pleasant dream, a memory of before their first case when her boss wanted to send Tamara, an older agent with five years experience in organized crime, over her, a new agent with a few years as a New York City cop under her belt.

( _Em is my girl. She gets the job done, she’s always ready for a fight, and she has my back when I need her. I don’t care how much experience she has or doesn’t have, she’s coming with me to Tallahassee. Em and I are a team, understood?_ )

A shriek of excitement startled her as she eavesdropped on Killian’s story about how he had to haggle with the real estate agent to bring the house down a few thousand, considering who he was and all, and how the woman couldn’t resist his charms and agreed. Ruby commented on the marble fireplace, Killian responding that she had chosen all the artwork on display before Victor cracked some joke about women and their love for housekeeping.

“Hey, Ruby.” Emma waltzed into the living room wearing light blue shorts and a red shirt, blonde hair tousled in waves across her shoulder.

Ruby was donning a white Red Sox jersey over her shorts and a baseball cap, her black and red locks pulled into a ponytail, Victor hovering close to her side, sporting a red Boston t-shirt and jeans. Killian was wearing a white Henley and cargo shorts, his dark hair sticking out the sides of a baseball cap that matched Ruby’s.

“Emily!” Ruby shouted as she walked over, hugging her excitedly. “I hope you’re alright from yesterday. I couldn’t believe those men! Thinking they could just grab us like that.”

Emma just smiled. “Oh, I’m alright. I’ve dealt with worse.”

“I’m just so sorry you had to experience that on your first day with the family. I mean, we haven’t seen that sort of violence since...” Ruby started, sentence trailing off as she traded glances with Killian.

“Since what?” Emma asked, eyes wide.

She looked over at Killian, who was scratching the space behind his ear, trying to avert his own gaze from Emma’s focused one. He bit his lip a little bit before shaking his head.

“Story for another time, love,” Killian stated, offering his arm out for her. "Shall we get going?"

Emma grabbed his arm, following his lead as they trailed behind Ruby and Victor, waiting patiently on the front steps for them to bring the car around.

“You okay?” Emma asked, nudging his shoulder a little with hers.

“Worried about me?” he teased, turning to look down at her. “I figured I was still a ‘son of a bitch’ after last night.”

Emma snorted. “You still are. I just... it looked like...”

“It’s nothing, love. Just ghosts of the past.” He glanced off at the park, watching as a young man escorted a girl into one of the swan boats to sit next to an older couple and a family of four before the boat began its trek across the water. “You of all people should understand.”

“It’s about who your uncle took from you, isn’t it?”

Killian’s eyes darted back to her. “Aye,” was all he could muster as Victor pulled up in his Jeep, honking for them to get in.

* * *

When the four got to their seats, the men bought a round of beers (tall glasses of Guinness, _of course_ ) and hot dogs and fries. The seats were a couple rows behind home plate, seats Emma wouldn’t even dream about getting, which made her wonder who in the Red Sox organization was wrapped around Teach’s finger for him to have been able to snag these.

“So tell me more about Chicago!” Ruby exclaimed during the fifth inning, munching down on a handful of their second round of fries. Killian was chatting up Victor about the pitcher for the Detroit Tigers (some kid right out of college with _a hell of a fastball_ and a _bloody good arm_ ) and Emma was left to his curious cousin. “Or tell me how my cousin proposed!”

“Oh, I don’t want to ramble on about myself all the time,” Emma said, quickly changing the subject, considering her mind was still too frantic after last night to continue improvising her backstory. “Tell me about Ruby!”

Ruby blushed a little. “Oh, me? I’m as boring as they come. Just a run of the mill twenty-something in college, paying the bills by bartending on the side.”

“At your uncle’s pub?”

“Nah, at this place downtown. Young club, lots of cute guys. That’s where I met Victor,” she explained, adding that the place was always busy and tips of that nature were hard to come by in some of the other bars in the city. “You should come with me some time soon! My friend bartends there too and she makes a hell of a Long Island iced tea.”

“I may just take you up on that.” Emma remained silent for a moment before leaning in. “Is there a reason you don’t work at your uncle’s?” she asked, realizing that she’d pushed a button because Ruby’s face fell immediately.

She shook her head. “Too much drama, as you can see. And Uncle Eddie is a hard man to work for. Killian would understand.”

“Oh,” Emma responded, taking a sip of her beer, feeling the touch of Killian’s hand gently on her back.

“We’re going to get more beer, love,” he murmured, standing up with Victor. “Do you ladies care for anything?”

Both Emma and Ruby shook her head as they watched the men disappear into the crowd up by the concession stands. Emma waited until they were completely gone before she turned back to Ruby.

“Speaking of drama, those guys from last night...”

“The Boyle clan. Ugh,” Ruby responded, taking a large sip of her beer. “They are literally the worst. Peter and I went to school together, and I swear he was always trying to get in my pants.”

“Are they like the Sharks to your Jets?” Emma joked, causing Ruby to practically burst out into laughter.

“No, Em,” she said through a giggle. “This isn’t West Side Story. They’re just... Uncle Eddie doesn’t like them. He and Danny Boyle, they have some sort of bad history.”

“Danny Boyle?”

“Peter’s uncle,” Ruby answered quickly, munching idly on another fry.

“That must be who Peter was asking about,” Emma mumbled. “I hope you don’t mind, but do you know what’s going on?”

Ruby stared out at the field as the shortstop came up to bat, swinging at the first pitch and launching the ball into left field with a loud crack of his bat. The crowd began cheering as he rounded second, earning two RBIs in the process, but Ruby stayed dead silent.

“I think Uncle Eddie kidnapped him and he’s hiding him somewhere,” Ruby whispered, as if just uttering the words in such a public place would get her into trouble. “I’ve heard things down at the club, bad things, and I just... I’m worried Uncle Eddie’s in far worse than before. There’s even talk of the FBI.”

“Hmm, well I’m sure everything will be fine,” Emma tried to reassure her, stroking Ruby’s back with her hand.

Ruby nodded, the tremble in her body calming under Emma’s soothing touch. “I just... I worry more about Victor. And you should do the same with Killian.”

“And why’s that?” Emma asked, but her question was left hanging between them as Killian snuck up behind them, propping a pink baseball cap on Emma’s head and placing a quick peck on her cheek.

“Aw, he got you a baseball cap!” Ruby squealed, clapping her hands in excitement, her mood changing abruptly. “Where’s Victor?”

“Ah, the lad’s informed me there’s an ice cream with your name on it, he just doesn’t know what flavor you’d like,” Killian responded, cocking his head up towards the concourse.

Ruby giggled as she bounced up from her seat, practically skipping her way up the steps.

Emma took the cap off, tracing the white B etched into the front, the slight bend to the visor as if he’d already broken it in for her. “You didn’t have to...”

“No, I did,” Killian started, climbing over the row of seats with his beer clutched in his other hand.  “I don’t apologize often, love, but my behavior last night was rather improper.” He sat down, placing his beer in the cup holder in front of him before looking up at her with a grin that melted her heart.

Emma blushed slightly, the red creeping up her cheeks causing her to smile one of those embarrassing ones that you only find yourself doing when you’re a love-struck teenager.

He lifted his hand up, brushing away a loose strand before taking the cap from her and placing it gently on her head. “Besides, the baseball look is quite cute on you.”

She looked at him in awe, the softness of his eyes, the warmth of his smile, the comfort of his touch as he toyed with the hair over her shoulders.

“Who are you?”

He leaned back in his seat, hands folded behind his head. “Hmm?”

“I mean, one minute you’re Killian Jones the mobster, punching the crap out of some kid and the next minute you’re...” She waved her hands, gesturing to his relaxed figure. “ _This_.”

“I could say the same of you,” he quipped, turning to greet her stare with a cheeky grin. “Who are _you_ , Swan?”

“I asked first,” she maintained, leaning in over the armrest, invading his personal space as he’d done to her on one too many occasions these past few days. “ _Who are you?_ ”

“A scoundrel,” he answered, licking his lips as if he was trying to entice her. “A scoundrel who knows what he wants when he sees it, and doesn’t back down until he gets it.” His arms left their spot behind his head as he leaned closer to her, one hand landing on her bare thigh, practically inviting her to make a move.

“And what do you want, Jones?” she asked in a voice entirely too flirtatious for her own good.

His lips tugged up into a smirk. “I want...”

“Mm-hmm.”

She moved closer, licking her lips in anticipation, feeling the buzz of heat between them, the fresh memory of his lips taunting her (she couldn’t tell if it was the five innings of alcohol coursing through her system or just _him_ intoxicating her like this).

“The Red Sox to win this game.”

She jabbed him in the side with her elbow, “You’re incorrigible.”

He dramatically grabbed his side, wincing in make-believe pain. “You like it, love.” 

She couldn’t help but grin.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This chapter will contain a mild non-con scene at the end, but I'm adding the warning nonetheless._

Emma zipped by Killian as he sat comfortably at the kitchen island, sipping on his morning coffee. She was in a rush, snatching a granola bar and filling her to-go thermos with the caffeinated beverage and a splash of creamer, a slight stiffness to her shoulders as she made her way around the island.

“Going somewhere, Swan?” Killian asked as his eyes perused her figure. She looked like an agent again, crisp pants suit, hair pulled back into a neat ponytail, a smidgen of rouge on her lips, nothing like the girl of the past few days (the _persona_ , he reminded himself).

“Station,” Emma spat off quickly, almost making it out of the room before he swiveled on the stool and grabbed for her arm.

“There’s a party for us this afternoon down at the pub. My aunt is having it in your honor.” One of his eyebrows rose as he studied her, the hint of mascara on her fluttering eyelashes, the blush on her cheeks, the tremble of her arm under his touch. He brushed his thumb over her skin gently, loosening his grip just enough to give her the option to free herself. “I know it’s short notice and all but...”

“No it’s fine. It’s just Walsh called, said Danny Boyle’s sister came in with a tip,” Emma rattled off, body thrumming with the rush of the investigation. She was hurried in her words, barely breathing as they rolled off her tongue. “And I have to, I mean, this could really help us so I need to be there. You don’t have to go. You get ready for the party. Stay here. David is going to come with me. But don’t worry, Boyle’s sister won’t see me. We’ll use a two-way mirror and I’ll stay on the other side in the audience box and I’ll be home in ti—”

“Swan,” he interrupted, clutching her shoulders and giving her a little shake. “I trust you.” He reached up to push a loose strand behind her ear, his fingers toying with the taut hair under her ponytail.

She nodded unconvincingly. “Yeah?”

“Aye,” he whispered back, offering a reassuring grin. “You strike me as the type that knows what she’s doing.”

She averted her eyes, staring down at her feet before he tucked his hand under her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “It’s just... it’s risky for me and David already told me no but I said I didn’t care and...”

“All that matters is that you trust yourself. Right, love?” He traced his thumb slowly across her skin, outlining the dent in her chin, the dimple of at the corner of her mouth.

She bit her lip, letting out a long exhale before she nodded. “Right.”

David called from the living room, signaling Emma’s departure and she glanced up at him, fearful but confident, timid yet powerful, a mix of everything that made her that much more mysterious to him. She leaned in slightly, as if her body was doing it of its own accord before she backed away, giving him a timid smile, lingering in his touch for a brief second longer.

“I should get going,” she said, gesturing towards the living room. “We’ll talk later? At the pub?”

“Sure, Swan,” Killian stated, watching as she pivoted and stepped out of the room.

Up until then, it had felt like a game, a battle of wits in which he had to come out the winner. But since the baseball game, since the kiss he’d stolen from her the other night, since the moment he’d walked into that interrogation room and saw her sitting there like a damn beacon of hope, he’d felt captivated by her every move and every word as if she was a damn siren, her very being fostering an addiction only she could sate.

* * *

Emma tried to convince herself that his belief in her was just a fabric of her imagination, just a projection of her own screwed up feelings towards him (if they were even feelings at this point, if they even counted as such since they were faking a relationship the whole way, and she didn’t even _know_ him).

She let her mind focus on this meeting. It could be a break in their case, could give them _something_ to work with beyond the past few days worth of _nothing_. They had no clear-cut reason for this mob feud, no purpose that she could place her finger on, and Emma was inpatient, she needed an answer, needed something concrete or else she’d spend this whole investigation worried more about the way Killian was looking at her rather than his uncle’s criminal activity.

“So what’s her deal?” Emma asked as Walsh led David and Emma downstairs to the basement interrogation rooms, sneaking them past the regular lot of officers and detectives to ensure their anonymity.

Walsh closed the door to the audience box quietly behind them before gesturing for Emma and David to sit. “She’s Danny Boyle’s younger sister. Claims there was an altercation between Boyle and Teach when they were younger.”

“How old is...” David questioned, gesturing to the woman sitting behind the mirror. She was chewing on her nails as if she was in the midst of her own interrogation, her light blonde hair and green eyes twinkling under the fluorescent lighting. She was older though, with wrinkles around her eyes and sharp creases along her jaw.

“Brenna,” Walsh offered, walking over to stand in front of the glass. “She’s in her late 30s. Ten years younger than Boyle. Doesn’t associate much with her brother as of late. Works as a secretary at a law firm downtown.”

“Any kids? Husband?” Emma asked.

Walsh shook his head. “No. Single, never married. Engaged once to a Larry Cobb from Dallas, but it fizzled out. Doesn’t seem to hold any connection to our mob families.”

“Well, then let’s get started, shall we?” David gestured for Walsh to leave and settled into his seat as Walsh reappeared on the other side of the glass.

“Good morning, Ms. Boyle,” Walsh greeted with a smile, ever the polite detective.

She smiled back, courteously. “Was the interrogation room necessary?”

“Just standard protocol,” he assured her, sitting himself down on the other side of the table. “Why don’t you tell me what you came here for?”

Brenna sighed. “Alright. Well, I had a thought the other day. There was this girl Danny used to go with. I can’t remember her name though.”

“Anything can help us, Ms. Boyle,” he stated, drumming his fingers on the tabletop.

She bit her lip, stared at the walls for a moment before looking back. “Well, she was from these parts, some Jewish girl that he must have met at the high school. Ma always used to complain about her. Said she was ‘up to no good.’ You know, one of those types.”

“What did she look like? Can you remember that?” Walsh leaned back, arms folded in front of his chest. 

“Uh, long black hair. Cute smile. _Really_ pretty.” Brenna rolled her eyes. “My brother was head over heels for her. I remember Danny getting into fights with Eddie over it constantly. Maybe she was stringing them both along, or she slept with one while dating the other. I was barely six when it all started, so my memory isn’t all that clear and I didn’t really understand much back then.”

“That’s alright. Do you remember the altercations between your brother and Teach?” Walsh’s foot was tapping under the table.

Brenna chuckled, a smirk forming on her lips. “Not really, except this one time when I was eight, Eddie came over and asked if Danny was home. I let him in because I didn’t know any better. Ma wasn’t home either.”

Walsh nodded. “What happened?”

She brought her hand up to pinch the bridge of nose. “I just remember Danny bringing him out front and hearing them scream at each other. And Eddie called the girl a ‘dirty tramp’ with a loose... well, you know.”

“I can infer from context, ma’am,” Walsh continued, a little more flustered than before as he rubbed the back of his neck anxiously.

Emma laughed from behind the glass. “He’s such a prude, it’s pathetic.”

David elbowed her in the ribs. “Killian must be rubbing off on you.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut it, Nolan.”

Emma turned her attention back to the interview where Walsh had gotten up to look into the glass, awkwardly making eye contact with her through it.

“Did anything happen after that?” He turned back around to face Brenna.

“I remember Eddie threatened to kill them both if he went near her again. Scared me to pieces.” Brenna slapped her hand on the table, scoffing a little. “After that though, she didn’t come around much and nobody ever spoke of her again. Not even Danny.”

“Do you know where she went?” Walsh asked.

Brenna shook her head. “No, not that I can remember. It was a long time ago, Detective Walsh.”

He sighed. “Well, thank you very much. Officer O’Donnelly will see you out. If you remember anything else, her name, something your brother might have said,” Walsh stated, taking a card out of the pocket inside his suit jacket. “Here’s my number.”

She took the card, grasping it between her fingers before standing up hesitantly. “Do you think you’ll find him? My brother?”

Walsh stepped towards her to let her out. “We’ll do our best, ma’am. Thank you for your time.”

He waited a moment as Brenna disappeared down the hallway before seeing himself out, the door to the audience box opening with a soft click.

“She seems awfully calm for someone whose brother just disappeared,” Emma stated when Walsh sat down in the row in front of them.

“Like I said, Em,” Walsh started, turning around to face her. “She hasn’t spoken to her brother in a long time and in a family like hers, it’s not unusual to lose someone quite suddenly. I guess they’re used to it by now.”

“Yeah, but still... something’s _off_ ,” Emma responded, shaking her head in disbelief. “I mean, I’m supposed to believe there’s just some girl from when her brother was eighteen and Teach spent thirty some years waiting to retaliate because of it?”

“Not everyone can develop their plan for revenge in three years, Em,” Walsh reminded her, clicking his tongue in his cheek.

“Regardless, you should probably have your department look into this woman,” David ordered. “See if anyone besides Brenna remembers her. Maybe someone in the neighborhood can provide us with a name or an ID and we can talk to her.”

“Sure thing. I’ll get a few of my guys to help out,” Walsh answered, nodding his head as a silence fell over them.

Emma thought for sure that this would be a simple case, that this would be a feud over money or turf or some bullshit family business, not some woman who participated in a teenage love affair with two of Boston’s most infamous criminal masterminds, who also happens to be nameless and nowhere to be found.

“She knows where she is,” Emma spoke in a quiet voice. “I can sense it. She’s lying about it to keep her safe.”

“You think Danny sent her away?” David asked.

Emma sighed. “I think if he loved her and Teach threatened to kill her...”

“Then he could have done it to protect her,” Walsh finished for her, leaning back in his chair. “God, if this whole feud is over a _woman_...”

“Then we’ve got a mob love triangle on our hands,” Emma stated, a huff of exasperation escaping her throat. “And a woman we know nothing about who could be in some serious trouble.”

* * *

It was late in the afternoon when Killian arrived at the pub with Emma for his Aunt Maura’s idea of a welcoming party. Normally, such an event would be held at Uncle Eddie’s home but his Aunt Maura had plans to celebrate the engagement of her favorite nephew alongside it, and that required the attendance of numerous family members he could barely remember the names of.

Emma was fidgeting the entire ride over, having changed from her suit into a floral maxi skirt and a flowing white blouse. She looked the complete opposite of the morning, a much softer expression schooling her features as they pulled up in front of _The Queen Anne Tavern_.

“Was a party for me really necessary?” Emma grumbled as Killian opened the door for her, helping her out of the car.

“My aunt is quite the hostess,” he said through a chuckle, smoothing out the navy blazer he wore to compliment his tan trousers. “She’d throw you a party if you got a brand new pair of shoes.”

Emma giggled, smile tumbling easily from her lips and it warmed his heart beyond capacity. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

He took her hand in his, walking them towards the pub. “Are you telling me your family never had big, grand parties for absolutely no reason?” he asked through a smirk.

She bit her lip, looking blankly at the sidewalk. “No,” she mumbled, no louder than a whisper.

“Small family, I presume?” he asked, stopping them briefly in front of the pub.

She shook her head, still averting her gaze. “No family. Just me.”

It was then that it hit him, the sudden look of pain in her eyes, the sunken nature of her shoulders, the quiver of her bottom lip, the slight tremble under his grasp as the declaration escaped her lips. She was an _orphan_ and her eyes looked teary as she gulped hard to suppress a sob of some sort.

How could he be so _blind_? She was alone, just like he had been at one point, but she never had the luxury of _this_. She’d never had a family, probably not until she joined the FBI and even that was taken from her in some way.

He swiftly tugged her closer to pull her into a hug, holding her tight against his body, her hands resting right above his heart. “I’m sorry, love. Truly sorry.”

He ran his fingers across her head, kissing her temple softly, and for a moment he could have sworn he felt her relax under his embrace, her heart beat calming as he rocked her in his arms.

“It’s fine,” she eventually stated, pushing him away slightly but still remaining within his grasp. “I learned to get over it a long time ago.”

“Nobody deserves to grow up without a mother or a father,” Killian murmured, knowing the pain she felt all too well. It almost made him regret making her go into the pub at all, the desire to wrap her in his arms and soothe her worries away fiercer than anything he’d ever felt before (and when did this need to _comfort_ her, to _protect_ her become so great?).

“Well, I came out stronger because of it, didn’t I?” she quipped, proud smirk forming on her lips, the Emma he knew coming back into full view.

“Aye,” he responded through a grin, turning around to walk them into the pub, his hand wandering to the small of her back. “That you did, love.”

“And besides,” Emma murmured, bumping playfully into his side. “It might be nice to pretend for a day.”

* * *

When Emma entered the pub, it was as if she was walking into some dream she couldn’t quite recall. She’d always thought about this, on her disregarded birthdays or when her foster parents would forget it was Christmas or her high school graduation, attended by her child services officer for “legal purposes.” She never actually thought she’d have it though, a family all to herself, a group of people clamoring over her and her newfound engagement.

Part of her was overjoyed, her grin radiating across her lips because this was all for _her_ and nobody had done anything like this ( _them_ , she reminded herself, this party was for both of _them_ ). Yet, part of her knew it wasn’t real, understood that this was a ruse and she had to keep it up for the investigation’s sake (and that part of her was furious because goddamnit, the child in her wanted this _so bad_ ).

There was the scent of rich food wafting in from the pub’s kitchen, the establishment filled with the aroma of beef stew and potatoes and lots and lots of Guinness. Younger kids ran around the room, playing a very intense game of tag as they rushed past both Emma and Killian, almost toppling them both over.

Ruby was the first to notice them and pulled Emma away immediately to introduce her to every single family member in the room that she hadn’t officially met. She nodded graciously to Aunt Maura, waved politely at Jefferson before Ruby began to announce everyone else in the room. She tried desperately to memorize the names Ruby was shooting at her (his cousins Caitlin, Fiona and Mona, two rambunctious twin boys named Tristan and Colin and their mother Meryl, his Aunt Maura’s sisters, Nora, Helen and Gail, and their husbands Evan, Eli and Reagan) and it wasn’t long before Killian had shuffled up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her into him.

“I do hope my darling cousin isn’t overwhelming you,” Killian murmured, hands linking over her abdomen.

Ruby rolled her eyes at him. “Girl has to meet everyone some time or another.”

“Killian, it’s fine.” Emma chuckled as he nuzzled his head into the crook of her neck.

He grinned against her skin, placing a quick peck there. “Maybe I just don’t want to share you, love.”

Emma blushed, leaning back into his touch with ease, sighing as he gripped her that much tighter. It was easy, more _comfortable_ than anything in her life. She arched her head back, catching the soft smile on his lips, the twinkle in his eyes as he took her in and she couldn’t help the smile that quirked at the corners of her lips. For an agent and a criminal, they were pretty damn good at keeping up this whole conspiracy of being in love (regardless of the way his touch actually sent heat flying to her core, and his gaze sent shivers down her spine, and his breath made her heart stutter in her chest).

“Oh, you two are just adorable!” she heard his Aunt Maura shout, the other ladies in the room fawning over them with their subsequent oohs and ahhs.

“I think your nephew has finally met his match,” Helen joked, nudging her sister. “When’s the wedding again?”

“I hope it’s soon!” Gail added. “He can’t seem to get enough of her!”

Emma could only hear them in the haze of her mind, hers preoccupied with the man in front of her. She licked her lips instinctively, breath catching when she saw his eyes dart down to her lips.

She could hear the clinking of glasses, Ruby’s objection of “Isn’t that a thing you do at receptions?” before he was turning her in his embrace so she was flush against his chest, hand coming up to cup her cheek tentatively as he lowered his lips to hers and brushed them across, softly kissing her. She felt her knees go weak, her mind go blank and then refill with _Killian, Killian, Killian_ as he nudged her head to the side with his nose before pulling back, resting his forehead on hers.

He looked up at her, breathless and wrecked, those blue eyes piercing through her, causing her heart to flutter and her lips to search for his again.

“Just think of how beautiful those children will be!” Nora hummed, interrupting their less-than-private moment. “Better get practicing, you two!”

“Mom!” Ruby shrieked.

It was Killian who chuckled first, followed by Emma’s breathless giggle and roll of her eyes. He wrapped his arm tightly around Emma’s waist, pulling her into him before he shouted with a toothy grin, “Shall we eat?”

* * *

They moved to the bar later on when most of the children had left, Emma sipping on a rum and coke while Killian sipped on his Guinness. Ruby had been rearranging the tables in the pub with a few of the other family members while Aunt Maura and her sisters gushed about wedding venues and dresses.

Edward Teach had eventually graced them with his presence when dinner was served, coming out to officially welcome Emma (or rather, _Emily_ ) into the family before resigning himself to sitting with the older men in the back booth of the pub.

“What are you thinking?” Killian questioned, nudging her knee with his.

Emma shook her head. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“Oh, it’s something,” he scooted his stool closer to her. “I can see the wheels turning in your head, love.”

Emma turned around, eyes wandering the pub before leaning in to him. “I know your uncle’s office is in the back. I saw it when... well, when you hid Ruby and I in the hallway.”

“Before you even think about it,” Killian protested, hand raised in between them. “ _Don’t_.”

“Killian,” she practically whined. “Nobody is back there. Everybody is out here. It’s the perfect plan.”

“Doesn’t mean they won’t relocate,” Killian grumbled.

Emma grinned mischievously. “That’s where you come in. Create a distraction. Make it so _nobody_ has a reason to leave.”

“And what do you suppose you’ll do once you’re back there?” Killian asked smugly, arms now folded across his chest. “That is if you even get in.”

“Oh, I’ll get in,” Emma reassured him, flicking his nose before standing up. “We got a possible lead this morning and I just want to see if there are any clues in there. I won’t make a mess. I promise.”

Killian frowned. “I don’t know.”

“Trust me? Please?” Her face grew soft, eyes pleading with him.

He nodded. “Just...”

“ _Be careful_ ,” Emma answered quickly. “I know.”

Killian huffed before he walked over to his uncle’s booth to talk about whatever it was they were discussing, eyes trained on Emma as she disappeared down the hallway.

Emma passed the first few doors, a men’s bathroom followed immediately by the women’s, a closet, a door to the kitchen and a door leading outside to the back alleyway. She rounded the corner before she arrived at it, the last door at the end, tucked inconspicuously into the dark corner as if it was meant to entice you.

She picked a bobby pin from the nape of her neck, bending it backwards before it snapped in two. She set the straight piece in between her teeth, taking the bent piece and placing it in the top part of the keyway, folding it to the right just a smidgen. She grabbed the straight piece out of her mouth, putting it in the bottom part of the keyway horizontally before pushing it to the side to create a slight bend to the metal.

She kept the bent piece in the top half, shoving the straight piece in the bottom and wriggling it around until she heard a definite click, turning the doorknob with ease and shoving the two metal pieces in her skirt pocket.

The room was dark and it reeked of whiskey and some sort of salty musk. Something dreary hung over the entire space like a dark cloud as Emma walked towards the desk, glancing around the room. There were tall bookshelves adorning the walls and one window at the top of the far wall that let in the smallest combination of moonlight and the Boston skyline. She stilled when she heard a voice come near the office, feet padding about outside the door before the loud clunk of boots trailed off in the opposite direction.

She moved her attention to the desk, papers strewn about in a disorderly fashion. She knew she didn’t have long so she carefully moved the papers, searching for anything that would help. There were files stacked, one on Jefferson, Victor Whale, even one on Killian. She opened Killian’s cautiously, reading up on his various misdemeanors and imprisonments prior to his departure five years ago, nothing she didn’t already know.

There was a picture of him as well, dressed in a grey fitted suit, waistcoat around his torso, the first few buttons of his crisp white shirt undone, walking down the streets of Southie, tall blonde man at his side. Killian had a large smile on his face as he peered up at the man with a look she could only describe as pride.

She hummed contentedly, brushing over the photograph before she caught a small piece of notepad paper out of the corner of her eye, hidden under a book to her right. She carefully tugged the paper out, studying the scribbled name of a woman in capitalized letters.

_Maggie._

This could be the woman who broke Teach’s heart, who chose Danny over him, who started this whole feud decades ago. If she could just find this woman, maybe she could find Danny Boyle.

She grabbed the phone from her skirt pocket, noticing the text from Killian, the timestamp from about two minutes ago.

_Jefferson, on his way._

She snapped a quick photo of the paper before neatly putting it back into place and tiptoeing towards the door. She opened it slowly, closing it ever so carefully before she smoothed over her skirt. She sighed in relief as she turned the corner, practically bubbling with delight before she bumped right into Jefferson.

“Whoa there, sweetheart,” he stated, the stench of gin on his breath almost overwhelming her. “What are you doing back here?”

Emma shook her head, rolling her eyes. “Oh, I was looking for the... the bathroom! Which is _right here_!”

She stepped around Jefferson, making her way to the ladies room when he gripped her wrist and pulled her into him.

“Not so fast,” Jefferson stated, pinning her against the wall, hands locked above her head. “I’m not fucking stupid. You were sneaking around.”

Emma gasped. “No, no I wasn’t. Just got lost, that’s all.”

She watched as his hooded eyes raked over her face and her frame, darting down to sneak a peek past the top hem of her shirt.

“Hmm, well regardless, you really need to be careful,” Jefferson leered, thrusting his hips gently into hers. He was aroused, there was no doubt about that, and Emma shuddered, frozen in shock.

“I’ll r-remember that for next time,” she stammered.

Jefferson grinned, rolling his hips into hers again. “Maybe I should teach you how a woman in this family should behave.”

She didn’t move, stayed almost deathly still as he leaned down to nibble on her neck, his free hand coming down to unbuckle his jeans and hike her maxi skirt up. She bit her lip, legs clenching together to avoid his actions, desperately trying to suppress the need to choke or gag because his hair was greasy and he smelled like he hadn’t seen a shower in a day or two and his face looked like a pimple haven. He let his mouth trail down to her collarbone as she felt him hard through the fabric of her skirt.

She shrieked in protest, arms trying to squirm from his strong hold, every ounce of FBI training suddenly worthless as she attempted to fight him off.

“Let me go!” she shouted, loud enough for anyone else at the party to hear (and loud enough for _Killian_ , she hoped).

“Oh come on,” Jefferson complained, gripping her wrists with that much more force. “Can’t let Killian have all the fun! Besides, what’s a quick fuck between in-laws?”

He leaned in to kiss her when Killian came barreling down the hallway, grabbing Jefferson by the shoulder and punching him firmly in the jaw.

“What the fuck?” Jefferson shouted, rubbing his jaw in pain.

“Don’t fucking touch her you fucking son of a bitch!” Killian roared back, grabbing Emma by the elbow and storming down the hallway.

“You fucking cocksucker,” Jefferson shouted, standing up swiftly to retaliate.

Killian let go of Emma, spinning around to push Jefferson up against the wall. “I swear to fucking hell I will bloody kill you myself if you so much as breathe in her vicinity, you hear me?”

Jefferson didn’t answer as Killian let go of him, shoving his cousin to the floor before he tugged Emma down the hallway.

“We’re leaving. _Now_.” Killian continued out the door without so much as a goodbye or a thank you, caressing Emma’s shoulder until they arrived at the car. He quickly opened the door before slamming it shut with a force that caused Emma to jump in her seat.

She stared out the window as Killian pulled out hastily into the street, speeding past the Southie buildings, heading back to their pseudo home in Beacon Hill.

“You alright, Swan?” he finally asked when they’d made it to a stoplight, his question coming out in a breathy tremble.

“Yep. Fine,” she mumbled, turning to see his expression, concerned and broken and angry, so _angry_. “Were you... were you worried about me?”

Killian turned his head and nodded. “Aye.”

The light turned green and she cocked her head, motioning for him to drive.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some rather smutty scenes towards the end ;)

It was strange when he walked into his childhood home for a meeting at his uncle's request, but this was a necessary endeavor considering his unexpected return to the family and all the things it entailed. His Aunt Maura greeted him at the door, dressed in a grey cardigan and jeans, and she shuffled him towards the living room before walking down to his uncle’s office to announce his arrival.

His eyes wandered around the room, small and confining, filled with memories of a childhood he both envied and despised. He meandered past the picture frames scattered across the wall and various end tables, a photograph of his uncle kissing his aunt on their wedding day, one of him and Ruby as lanky teenagers, both with a mouthful of hot dog on a bright summer day, even one of Jefferson standing next to his uncle on a fishing boat in the harbor, holding up a large catch for the camera.

It all seemed normal as he looked at what appeared to be an ordinary Irish family from Southie. But he knew better.

“You’re quite early,” his aunt stated quietly, interrupting Killian’s thoughts. She was smaller than he’d remembered, her shoulders hunched over, frown evident on her lips. She carried a tray with her from the kitchen, complete with a small teapot and two cups.  “Your uncle is... pre-occupied.”

“Nothing has changed, I see,” Killian scoffed, causing his aunt to chuckle.

“No, Killian,” she replied, placing the tray neatly down on the coffee table, picking up the pot and pouring two cups of steaming hot tea. “Nothing has.”

She offered him a cup, and he smiled as he took it, graciously sipping on the steaming beverage as she sat down on the couch. She was frailer than when he’d last seen her, and he silently cursed himself for abandoning _her_ after all she’d offered to _him_ when he had nothing.

“You know,” she began as he settled into the chair opposite her. “We all missed you very much.”

Killian smiled weakly, continuing to drink his tea.

“Even your uncle. Lord knows he can’t do anything without you,” she continued, taking a long swig of hers before placing it down on the coffee table.

“Well, I’m not sure how much I want to be involved,” he answered, staring blankly out the window at the cars slowly passing in the night. “Uh, for Emily’s sake.”

Maura grinned at the mention of her name. “How is Emily doing after the other night?”

“She’s fine,” he answered succinctly. “In fact, she’s with Ruby and some of her friends right now, so I’m sure she’s in safe hands.”

“That’s good. They seem to be getting along, Ruby and Emily. It’s been a while since Ruby’s had a good, strong female influence. Those other girls she flaunts about with are such floozies,” Maura added with a slight giggle. She fiddled with the hem of her cardigan, her eyes seemingly losing focus. “Does your fiancée know what she’s in for?”

“I assume so, considering.” Killian gestured to himself with a self-deprecating smirk.

“ _Killian_ ,” his aunt scolded, smile almost forming before it withered away. “You know what I mean.”

“She understands who we are,” he countered, waving his hand between them. “I had no choice but to explain it to her. It did not sway her decision one way or another.”

Maura picked up her tea again, taking a sip before letting out a long sigh. “Your uncle doesn’t mean to do it, you know. It’s just in his blood. It’s in yours too.”

“Aye, I’m aware,” he groaned. “Doesn’t mean I don’t have a choice in the matter.”

“You sound like your mother,” Maura whispered, sipping on her tea before changing the subject. “So have you and Emily picked out a wedding date?”

Killian choked on his tea before chuckling, running his free hand through his hair. “No, not yet.”

“Well, you’d better figure that our soon,” she explained, getting up to grab the calendar from the kitchen, carefully mulling it over. “I mean, she’ll need time to get everything ready, and get her parents—”

“She doesn’t have... she’s an _orphan_ , Aunt Maura,” he mumbled quickly, wincing at the crude sound of the word.

“Oh,” she said, surprised. “Well, I’m sure my sisters would love to help. And Ruby too.” She jumped a little, holding her hand to over her heart. “Oh Killian! You need to have that lovely girl come over tomorrow for lunch so we can start planning!”

Killian smirked, shaking his head. “You’re getting too worked up over this Aunt Maura. Besides...”

His uncle took that moment to stroll in, grinning as he locked onto Killian. “My boy! It’s so great to see you again.”

“Just grand,” Killian echoed, standing up to shake his uncle’s hand.

“May I rescue my nephew from this wedding nonsense?” his uncle stated with a smirk imitating Killian’s. “We have business to attend to, my dear.”

_Just fucking grand_ , Killian thought.

* * *

Emma could hear the music pounding from inside the club as she stood in line outside, clad in a skin-tight black dress and tall stiletto heels, wavy blonde hair cascading down her back and across her shoulders. Ruby had invited her out for the night, and after that second botched gathering at the pub, she felt like she deserved some time to let loose (and hanging with Ruby was currently the only safe outlet available, seeing as the shooting range wasn’t an option).

She took out her phone (the one the department so kindly offered her as a means to integrate herself into this community), idly scrolling through her text messages, hoping the girl didn’t forget about her when she heard Ruby shouting her name from the entrance to the club.

She looked up to see the brunette bouncing towards her in a white tank top and red mini-skirt, tons of dark makeup framing her eyes, the exact opposite of the goody-two-shoes cousin she’d grown accustomed to.

“You’re here! Come on in! You can meet my friends!” She grabbed Emma’s hand, rushing her past the long line and the bouncer, tugging her into the club and towards a round booth in the back.

The music was some sort of electronic rock tune Emma had never heard, and the strobe lights were reflecting throughout the club as Ruby introduced Emma to the girls (Ashley, a blonde a few years older than Ruby, Belle, a reserved brunette with a know-it-all smirk on her lips, and Ariel, a fiery redhead who jumped out of her seat when the music began to pulse louder).

“Want something to drink?” the redhead asked Emma.

“Ooh, get her a Long Island iced tea! Tell Anna to make it!” Ruby hollered, pulling Emma into the booth along with her.

“So you’re marrying her cousin?” Ashley asked curiously, pulling Emma’s hand into hers to inspect the diamond on her ring finger. “ _You’re_ marrying the infamous Killian Jones?”

“Yep,” Emma answered, shouting it over the music. It came out so quickly that Emma almost believed it. Engaged to Killian Jones. _Killian Jones_.

“Good luck,” Belle sneered, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Oh stop it,” Ruby cautioned, swatting her hand playfully at Belle. “She’s just teasing, Em.”

Belle rolled her eyes. “That dumb cousin of yours nearly got me killed.”

Ruby shook her head. “Let it _go_ , Belle.”

“What? I can’t tell the girl the kind of scumbag she’s about to marry?” Belle’s eyebrows were raised, one hand waving in protest. “He locked me up in my library once. Told me he needed valuable information about my boss, Mr. Gold.”

“Oh, _this_ story again,” Ruby mocked, groaning towards Belle.

Belle slammed her hand down on the table. “I had to knock your damn cousin over with a bookshelf. A bookshelf! And then, I had to hide in the damn elevator until my boss came to get me.”

“You’re just jealous,” Ruby added, leaning into Emma. “She’s _jeal-ous_.”

Belle pushed herself out of the booth. “I’m going to see if Ariel needs help. Come on, Ashley.”

Ruby grumbled something derogatory under her breath as Ashley smiled weakly, following close behind Belle who was storming towards the bar.

“Sorry about that,” Ruby mentioned, cocking her head towards the girls.

“No, it’s fine,” Emma responded, placing her hands neatly on the table.

“No, it’s _not_ ,” Ruby groaned. “My cousin is a good guy when it comes down to it. That whole story had nothing to do with Killian. Uncle Eddie just wanted Mr. Gold to work with him, and well, when he said no, Killian was supposed to do a little convincing. He wasn’t going to hurt her. He’s not like that.”

“I know,” Emma mumbled, trying to picture a younger Killian perusing the bookshelves before lunging towards the smaller brunette only to get toppled over (she could just picture him, swatting books away with his hands, attempting to free himself, and she couldn’t help but laugh just a _little_ ).

Ruby slumped down into the booth. “Killian just... got caught up in the wrong side of things.”

When was he ever on the right side? He _was_ born into this family after all, but the lilting Irish accent did give her pause. He wasn’t born _here_ and there was certainly something nobody was telling her, something they were all hiding for her sake (or _his_ sake). If she was going to succeed in this investigation though, somebody had to clue her in.

“He lost someone,” Emma finally whispered, causing Ruby’s eyes to widen. “I know he has, but he won’t tell me about it. I just wish he would. I feel like it would make things easier.”

Ruby sipped on her drink. “It’s really not my story to tell. I... I’m sorry, Em.”

Emma played with a napkin on the table, tearing it into little pieces. “I just want him to open up to me, that’s all,” Emma stated, peering up when the three ladies came back to the table, drinks in tow. Ariel placed Emma’s drink in front of her, a tall Long Island iced tea with a wedge of lemon on the rim.

Ruby watched impatiently as Emma tasted it. “So?”

Emma grinned, the alcohol going straight to her head. “Shit, this is _good_.”

Ruby let out a shriek of excitement as the ladies shuffled back into the booth, gushing about Ruby’s new boyfriend and the grand opening of Ashley’s shoe store and Ariel’s blind date last night with some fisherman named Eric and the boss Belle was sleeping with from the library (Mr. Gold, _of course_ ), completely forgetting the fact that (fake or not) she was about to “marry” someone she knew barely anything about.

* * *

Edward brought Killian down the hall to his home office, gesturing for him to enter before shutting the double French doors behind him.

“My boy, it truly is good to have you home,” Edward stated, sitting down at the desk, nodding for Killian to sit at the chair on the opposite side. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”

“You wanted to see me about something?” Killian asked, getting straight to the point. No need for pleasantries and nonsense, not when the very idea of being here made Killian’s soul shudder with dread.

Edward’s expression tightened as he leaned back in his chair, leg crossed over his knee. “Ah, yes. Well, as you have already learned, Danny Boyle is missing.” He grinned deviously (and how the man went from gracious uncle to evil mobster with such precision, Killian would never understand).

“Shall I assume that was your doing?” Killian wondered aloud, eyebrow rising on his forehead.

“Of course, my boy,” he sneered. “Except there has been a little hindrance in my plans.”

“Oh?”

“You see, there is talk around the city,” Edward began, fingers drumming on the armrest of his chair. “Talk that the FBI is in town, and I can’t have that.”

“Aren’t they always?” Killian joked, trying to brush off the fact that the FBI was essentially sitting in his office right now (and with his cousin, and in his pub, and with his family for the past few days). “Where is Boyle anyway?”

Edward chuckled, a low and hearty rumble. “All in due time, my boy,” he reassured him, clearly avoiding the subject of the latter’s whereabouts. “What’s important now is I have reason to believe there’s a mole in our midst. Somebody who is already inside, somebody who I would never suspect.”

Killian felt his throat tighten, his hands gripping the armrest of his chair, knuckles turning a ghastly shade of white. Would his uncle suspect him though? Would he label his surprise return to the family as such? Or worse, would he suspect Emma? Was that the true reason for Jefferson’s attack on her? Was this his uncle’s reason for needing to speak with him tonight?

“Any idea on who?” Killian asked, voice a little more shaky than he would like. He gulped hard, hoping to God his uncle didn’t hear the hammering inside his chest.

Edward nodded. “Yes.” Edward drew the moment out, a sneer of a grin growing on his lips as he brought a hand up to scratch at the bushy beard on his jaw. “Victor Whale.”

Killian let out a long sigh. “Ruby’s boyfriend?”

“I have reason to believe he’s not who he says he is,” Edward explained, sitting up to obtain a file folder and sliding it across the desk to Killian. “I’ve had some of my men look into him.”

Killian opened the file, a picture of Victor’s Massachusetts drivers license, a report of his recent health history, even a few unpaid parking tickets. “I’m not sure I follow. Seems like a pretty average guy to me.”

“Exactly,” Edward quipped, chair bouncing a little as he leaned across the table. “He’s never done anything criminal in his entire life. He only moved here a few years ago, and I can’t find any information on him prior to his time in Boston. It’s like he never even existed.”

“Maybe he was an orphan?” Killian suggested. “Or perhaps a name change?”

Edward dismissed him, standing up to walk over to the large bay window of his office. “No, there’s just something about him that’s just...”

“Off?”

Edward turned his head, genuine smile quirking at the corners of his lips. “Yes, my boy. See, _this_ is precisely why I’ve missed you.” He walked back over to his nephew and clapped him on the shoulder. “Now, I’ve had Victor work with Jefferson.”

“Ah, _Jefferson_ ,” Killian stated, gritting his teeth.

“I know, I know. I’ve spoken to him about his incident with your fiancée and he fully intends to make amends,” he reassured him. “Your cousin may be one step short of the deep end, but he’s good with cracking people. And if this Victor isn’t who he says he is...”

“Then Jefferson will beat it out of him,” Killian finished.

“Spot on, my boy.” Edward stepped closer, taking the file folder from Killian.

Killian sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “So is this all you brought me here for? To tell me about Victor’s possible FBI ties?”

Edward walked back around his desk, perching himself in his chair again. “No, I have something much more important for you, my dear nephew.”

* * *

A few drinks later and the girls had begun to loosen up around Emma, rambling on about their interesting childhoods in Southie. Ariel was starting up her own arts school after dancing professionally in New York and Paris before moving back home after a knee injury. Belle talked about the changes in the library, her boss wanting to open up more branches throughout the city, and the programs she was starting for reading education awareness.

Ashley, however, was far more interested in describing Killian’s younger days, painting an entirely different picture of the man she knew, stories complete with a suspender-wearing, four-eyed Killian Jones who wore a retainer until he was fourteen. She even had a story about the time he tried to cry himself out of a ticket right after he got his permit and decided it would be a good idea to joyride around the city (the cop, luckily, was a friend of his uncle’s, and so he was brought home with a warning, but still, a nerdy, teary-eyed Killian made Emma chuckle to herself).

“You know,” Belle stated, her speech slightly slurred by the effects of alcohol. “He once unleashed a flock of geese onto the high school football field at homecoming.”

Ruby chuckled to herself. “Oh, I remember that. It’s not as bad as the time he sold alcohol out of his locker.”

“Seriously?” Emma asked, sipping on her second drink (she was not getting drunk, not when she could get a clear picture of her suave and sophisticated other half). “You mean my Mr. Crybaby actually had the guts to sell liquor on school property?”

Ruby nodded before chugging the rest of her own drink. “Yep. The whole school was drunk because of him,” Ruby chuckled. “Something sophomore year changed him.”

“Wasn’t that the year Liam gave him a makeover?” Belle asked.

Ruby nodded again. “Yeah, I remember that! I had to wax his damn eyebrows.”

“Liam?” Emma chimed in. “Who’s Liam?”

“Ah, that cousin of yours sure is dreamy,” Ariel teased, poking into Ruby’s side, Emma’s question quickly forgotten. “A real sex kitten.” She purred, actually _purred._

“Emphasis on the _sex_!” Ashley cheered with her hands up above her head.

“Ashley!” Ruby shouted, slapping her friend from across the table. “Em is h-his fiancée!” Ruby hiccupped, which made her burst into a fit of giggles.

“Well then, I guess we shouldn’t tell her about the massive party he threw that summer after his senior year,” Ariel started, and Ruby’s face went a bright shade of red, her eyes widening.

Belle jumped in her seat, a sneaky grin growing on her lips. “Oh, you mean the party where the prom queen gave him a blow job behind the bar of his uncle’s pub and we all freaking heard?”

Ruby groaned as her forehead hit her folded arms on the table. “Oh my God, I don’t need to hear about this.”

“No, it’s fine,” Emma reassured her, trying to caress her shoulder, missing twice before groaning (not even two drinks, _really_ Emma?). “I can handle it.”

Emma tried not to think about the man in question, all dark and broody with blue eyes that she could get lost in and lips that made her want to crawl inside him and get completely and utterly lost, writhing beneath her, strangled moans whispered from his lips as he came undone. _Fuck_.

“Oh come on,” Ruby grumbled, sitting up to look at Emma. “You are such a goody-two-shoes. You don’t need to hear about this.”

Emma sighed, taking a final swig of her second drink before beginning. “When I was in high school,” she started, the four girls looking at her with eager eyes. “I... I had sex in the bathroom of a movie theater.” She bit her lip, aware of the red creeping up her neck.

Ruby’s mouth practically dropped. “Holy _fucking_ shit!”

“Well,” Belle scoffed. “Seems Miss Goody-Two-Shoes isn’t as innocent as we thought.”

Ruby jumped out of the booth as a familiar song began to grow louder throughout the club, the younger girl reaching out her hand to grasp Emma’s. “Come on, Em. Let’s go dance.”

* * *

Killian watched as his uncle sunk back into his chair, feet propped up on the desk. He had a job for him, and as much as part of him didn’t want to take it, wanted to be the man he knew he _could_ be, he knew he had to do this, if not for the investigation’s sake, then for his and Emma’s safety. Not doing it would create a problem he was sure they didn’t need, especially after the fight at the pub and the incident with Jefferson the night prior.

He was reminded of his early days with his uncle, completing little side jobs (some incident with alcohol and his high school locker sticking out prevalently in his mind) before he became more involved and realized something was _off_ , something was _wrong_ , which caused him to search further into his uncle’s past, into his _own_ past until he went too far and everything fell apart and...

“Killian,” his uncle drawled out, causing his eyes to peer up from its blank stare. “I need you to take care of Peter for me.”

Killian raised an eyebrow. “And not the FBI agent?”

“No, my boy,” Edward stated, propping his hands behind his head. “You see, the FBI agent, if it is indeed Victor, is a simple fix. Something Jefferson can take care of when the time deems itself appropriate. I care about something much more important.”

“What’s so important about Peter?” Killian questioned, crossing his legs.

“Peter is a liability. He will stop at nothing to save his wretched uncle,” Edward explained. “And I think he knows something. I think that whole goddamn family knows something. But Peter is an easy one to crack, and if we torture him a little bit, he could spill what they’ve all been hiding—”

“What would they be hiding?”

“Patience, my boy,” his uncle droned on. “Everything will be explained in due time, but I need you to promise me one thing.”

“Of course, Uncle Eddie,” Killian stated, rubbing the back of his neck. “What is it?”

“Loyalty, fidelity, a guarantee you won’t abandon me again,” his uncle chanted as he stood up again, which caused Killian to do the same. His uncle had some sort mystical pull over him, and the man’s similar blue eyes drew him in, the leering frame of the most frightening man in all of Boston hovering over him like a daunting shadow. “I need you to be my second-in-command again. It would do me no greater honor than to have you at my side while I take down the Boyles.”

Killian gulped down hard, memories of a frantic phone call and the familiar cries and a lone gunshot before the evil cackling of his uncle echoed through the speaker. This man took everything from him, and he would rather die, would rather bloody _drown_ than associate with his uncle again, especially as his second-in-command.

But this was an investigation, this was _Emma’s_ investigation, and if his uncle was going to tell him Boyle’s whereabouts and possibly help him solve her case, then there was only one possible answer he could give.

“Aye. You have my word.”

* * *

Emma hadn’t danced in a _long_ time (life as a federal agent didn’t really supply one with fun nights spent out on the town) but it was nice to relax for now, the weight of a federal case and an investigation and a kidnapping and an evil mobster washing away as the [reggae music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ey1DuuJ6tGk) pumped through the speakers.

The girls had created a circle of their own, swaying along to the beat as they each took turns in the middle. Belle had a very detached form of dancing that consisted of little steps back and forth, while Ashley was a much more lively dancer, jumping a little to the bass beat of the song. Ariel was beyond graceful, rolling her arms in the air above her, hips moving effortlessly throughout the space.

Ruby kept brushing up against Emma every so often, and the alcohol coursing through Emma’s veins made her push back in a frisky manner. Ruby bumped her hip in retaliation when the bass pounded through the speakers and Emma promptly backed up into Ruby, causing the brunette’s arms to link around her waist, swaying her back and forth as she pulled her flush to her chest.

They dipped both of their hips in succession as Ruby’s hands traveled dangerously low on Emma’s thighs. Emma turned in her embrace, placing both hands around her neck and moving closer so she could press up against the brunette’s chest. Ruby bit her lip, her dark eyes peering up at Emma through thick lashes causing a wave of goddamn heat to rush through her. Jesus _fuck,_ what was happening to her?

Ruby’s hands traced down Emma’s spine, landing right under her ass, cupping it in her palms and grinding Emma into her hips. It felt _good_ , and it was unusual and different and _good_ (and Emma blindly thought either she was going crazy or all this time spent with Killian was creating a sexually frustrated mess).

Ruby nudged her nose along the crook of Emma’s neck and the club seemed to disappear as the two of them rocked to the music, brushing up just a tad closer through each flourish of the music. Emma’s vision grew a little hazy and she felt Ruby’s knee fall between her thighs in response, keeping her steady.

“You’re a r-really good dancer,” Ruby mumbled through a hiccup.

The brunette blew a cool puff of air into Emma’s ear, the sensation creating a tingle across Emma’s skin as she arched into her touch. Ruby followed her lead, squeezing Emma’s ass and pulling her hips firmly against hers. Emma titled her head to the side, licking her lips slowly in an effort to quell the uneasiness in her stomach and the blurriness of her vision as she felt Ruby ghost her lips over hers before a hand abruptly yanked Ruby away.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing?” Victor bellowed as he jerked Ruby back, shoving her up against the nearest wall.

Emma stood slightly dumbfounded, hand clasped over her mouth as she watched Ruby attempt to writhe away from him, wincing under his brutal stare.

Ruby argued back, shaking her head in shame but Victor lifted his hand, slapping her across the cheek in a loud smack that even Emma could hear over the pulsating music.

“Wait until your damn uncle hears about this,” he mumbled as he dragged Ruby past Emma towards the door of the club.

Emma felt her hands clench and her face flush as she marched with purpose towards Victor. She grabbed his shoulder, tugging him towards her before landing a right hook against his jaw, causing him to stumble backwards.

“What the _hell_?” he groused, hand rubbing his jaw in pain. He scoffed before he shook his finger at her. “Jefferson should have fucked you when he had the chance. Maybe it would have taught you your place, you little _bitch_.”

Emma lunged towards him, pinning him up against the wall, every ounce of FBI training (and something else, definitely _something else_ ) giving her the strength to keep him there as adrenaline pumped through her veins. She tugged on his shirt collar, forcing him to meet her stare.

“Don’t you _dare_ lay a hand on her again, you understand me?” Emma’s voice was grating, her brow furrowed as Victor flinched a little under her grip. “Or should I get my soon-to-be husband to tell you instead?”

She knew the reputation Killian still held in Boston, despite the friendly demeanor he had held with this man at the baseball game and the first night at the pub. She could only hope it was worth enough to send a message.

Victor shook his head before Emma let him go, grinning when he shuffled away from them without so much of a protest.

* * *

Killian came home late when David must have already resigned himself to bed. He trudged through the front door and directly to the kitchen, placing the six-pack of beer he’d picked up on the way home on the kitchen island. He cracked one open before taking a large, long swig of the beverage, letting the cool liquid slip down his throat and warm his senses.

After all this time, after years of running from his uncle, of plotting revenge against him and vowing to bring justice for those he’d lost, he was right back where he never wanted to be again, next to his uncle in his devious plot for retaliation.

But this was all for _Emma_ , so she could _win_ , so she could get her own revenge as well, and despite his own worries and fears, he knew that keeping her safe in this entire investigation meant reverting back to his old ways, if only for show (if only for _her_ ).

He heard the front door jostle open, and he peered up at the clock, noticing it was almost midnight.

“Home so soon?” Killian joked as Emma wandered into the kitchen.

“Yeah, I punched Victor out s-so Ruby wanted to leave.” She bumped into the doorframe a little before she reached out for the kitchen island for leverage.

“Whoa there, love. You alright?” Killian breathed out as she leaned her elbows down on the counter to keep herself upright.

She slipped a little, almost knocking her chin on the marble on her way down before Killian leapt over to catch her. His fingers brushed against her elbow as she tried to keep herself upright. He put his beer down, linking his arm around her waist to hold her steady as she wobbled against him.

“Oh _wow_ ,” she mumbled as her hands roamed his broad chest, tracing his firm shoulders, his large biceps, squeezing them a little bit.

“Swan,” he whispered, trying to get her to focus. “Are you _drunk_?” He smirked a little, having never seen the composed agent so inebriated and off her game.

“No. I had like _two_ drinks.” She hiccupped, her eyes going wide as her hand came up to cover her mouth in surprise.

“Liar,” he accused, warm grin beaming down at her as she burst into a fit of giggles. “You’re bloody sloshed.”

“So?” Her voice quickly dropped to a husky tone before she pushed him backwards, making him stumble until his back was pressed up against the refrigerator. She stood on her toes as she ghosted her breath across his lips. “Wanna have a little fun, Jones?”

She let one hand wander down his chest, lips nipping at his cheek, then his pulse point before trailing down his neck, warm puffs of air that had all his blood rushing south in an instant. She cupped him through his trousers, rolling her palm tantalizingly slow.

“Bloody hell,” Killian groaned, head falling back, hitting hard against the metal surface behind him.

“A little birdie told me about you and the prom queen behind the bar.” She grinned against his neck before placing a light kiss under his earlobe. “And let’s just say, I’m a _little jealous_.” She enunciated the last two words with a squeeze of her palm.

“ _Swan_ ,” he moaned softly as her hands undid the buckle, unzipping his trousers and sneaking past the hem of his boxer briefs. “Who... who told you that?”

“Does it matter? I want you, _Killian_ ,” she purred before sucking on his pulse point, humming when the hands still perched on her hips moved around to cup her ass through the thin dress material. “Don’t you want me?”

He pulled her into him, his body buzzing with want and need. “Gods, _yes_ but...”

She traced her lips up along his jawline before hovering over his. “But what, Killian?”

He nipped at her lips, craning his neck to capture hers. “I... I can’t. We can’t,” he grumbled, his hips disobeying his words when she grasped on to him, hips thrusting into her hand for some form of friction. “We... we shouldn’t.”

“You wanted me the other night,” she reminded him, a playful pout forming on her lips. “Didn’t you?”

“ _Emma_ ,” he pleaded, studying the lust-filled green of her eyes, the glow of her coy smile, the intoxicating feel of her fingers gliding along him. “ _Fuck_ ,” he grumbled before surging forward and seizing her lips in his, her hands fervently pushing his trousers and briefs down to pool at his feet, grinning when she captured the groan that escaped his throat.

He was wrecked, absolutely positively _wrecked_ as she tugged and nipped at his lips, her hands doing unthinkable things beneath his waist. She trailed down his jawline, nibbling on each and every inch of skin she could get her mouth on before she dropped to her knees abruptly, her lips parting to slide over him as she ran her tongue along his smooth skin, causing his hips to buck involuntarily.

His hand came down to cup the back of her head, caressing the golden mess of curls, guiding her further and further until he felt like he was seeing stars, his vision filled with the angel at his feet, goddess-like gaze peering up at him through her thick lashes.

She released him, licking a long stripe along his tip, giving him a chance to come back to reality. She was _drunk_ , so _so drunk_ and this shouldn’t be happening, he couldn’t let this happen, not if he needed to keep her safe (keep his own _heart_ safe, he corrected, because she was a bloody vixen and her goddamn mouth on him was the stuff filthy dreams were made of, but she was an _agent_ and this was _wrong_ , so very _wrong_ ).

“Emma,” he begged, noticing just how gravelly his voice had become. He whispered it again when she ignored him.

“Shh, Killian,” she murmured as she took him between her lips again, sending shivers down his spine and across his skin.

He leaned down, grasping her shoulders firmly to help her stand before stepping her back and away from him. He pulled up his trousers, clasping the belt haphazardly before stalking past her and into the living room.

“What... what the hell are you doing?” she demanded, trying to march after him, forgetting just how drunk she was as she stumbled next to the island counter.

He turned swiftly, catching her in his arms with ease. “Swan,” he pleaded. “You’re bloody drunk and this shouldn’t have happened.”

“I... I thought you wanted me?” Her voice was a small tremor, tears forming in her eyes.

He sighed. “I do. I think. But this isn’t safe. I just...”

“You just what?”

He stepped forward, kissing her softly on the forehead. “For your own protection, _this_ can’t actually happen. _We_ can’t do this. It would be bad form.”

“Killian, I... I don’t understand.” Her bottom lip was quivering.

“You will some day.” He pivoted quickly before he could change his mind, leaving her to process his words, the fear of hurting her if she’d lost him (if he’d lost _her_ ) too much to bear. A fake relationship and engagement (and possibly even a _marriage_ ) was enough without having to throw real feelings into the mix.

Yet, as he made his way up the steps, haunted by the feel of her lips wrapped around him, her touch burning him from the inside out, he couldn’t help but think his real feelings (and _hers_ , perhaps?) were already seeping into their makeshift partnership, making things all the more complicated.

Bloody _fucking_ hell.


	7. Chapter 7

Killian barely slept that night, tossing and turning with the image of Emma kneeling at his feet, using those talented pink lips to bring him to the edge.

What the hell was going _on_?

One minute, she was cool and composed and an agent, a bloody federal _agent_ and the next, she was desperately throwing herself at him (not to say he didn’t enjoy it, she was beautiful and strong and _breathtaking_ and better than any dream) but she was an _agent_ and she certainly wasn’t his to have. And now this image, this hopeless fantasy was more than just that. It was suddenly a _reality_ , a _memory_ that Killian could relive in complete mocking clarity.

_Bloody fucking hell_.

He poured himself a cup of coffee, tossing a shot of rum into it to lessen the throbbing in his head from lack of sleep as David cheerfully wandered into the kitchen.

“Morning,” David stated as he poured his own coffee, humming along as he did so. “Emma up yet? We have a Skype meeting with Walsh in a little bit.”

Killian shook his head. “No, she was still sleeping when I checked in on her this morning.” He laughed for a moment, causing David to turn his head with both eyebrows raised. “She was pretty drunk when she came home last night.”

“Drunk?” David nearly shrieked, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat before continuing. “I mean, Emma should know better.”

“Well, after all she’s been through as of late, can you blame her?” Killian took a long sip of his coffee, hoping the sharp aroma of caffeine alone would jolt his senses.

David frowned. “No, I guess not.” He leaned his elbows down against the kitchen island, sipping casually from his mug. “How did the meeting with your uncle go last night?”

Killian took a seat at one of the stools. “It went well. He asked me to be his second-in-command.”

“Oh,” David said, surprised. “And what did you say?”

“I agreed,” Killian stated, grimacing when David’s face fell upon hearing his answer. “But only for the sake of the investigation, mate. If I’m that close to my uncle, he’ll be more inclined to give me inside information. It could help us immensely. There was really no other option.”

“Are you calling the shots now?” They both heard the soft voice from behind them, Killian swiftly swiveling on his stool to see Emma groggily stepping into the kitchen, clad in an oversized t-shirt, bare legs left exposed to the air. Her blonde hair was a tousled mess and there was dark makeup smudged around her eyes. She stretched her arms above her head, yawning as she did so, her shirt gradually rising on her legs, and Killian couldn’t help but keep his stare locked onto each inch of skin revealing itself to him.

“Rough night?” David joked as Emma strolled past him, snatching the coffee from his hands and taking a fulfilling sip.

“I guess so?” Emma rubbed her temples after handing the coffee mug back to David. “What time did I get home?”

Killian’s eyebrow rose in confusion. “You don’t remember? How much did you have to drink, Swan?”

“Not that much, I’m pretty sure,” she rambled on, wandering around the kitchen island before sitting at the stool next to Killian.

“You said that last night, but you were pretty damn sloshed when you came home. There’s no way...” Killian shook his head in disbelief, hand gesturing in between them.

She groaned when her stomach rumbled as she gripped the marble countertop to keep herself steady. “There’s no way what?”

“Maybe you had more to drink than you can recall. My cousin Ruby is definitely one to go overboard. And those lasses she associates herself with all have a bone to pick with me. Maybe they got you drunk to spite me.” Killian turned to David and gave him a playful wink. “I was a bit of a ladies man in my youth.”

David rolled his eyes with a disgusted groan. “We get it, Romeo,” he teased, walking over to Emma to give her a gentle hug. “Take care of her, Jones?”

“Will do, mate.” He tipped his head to David as he pivoted and headed down the steps towards the basement.

Emma stood up, pacing around the kitchen. “No, no, _no_. I had _two_. And when I finished the second one, we got up to dance and... and...”

“So you got a little drunk,” Killian reassured her (a _little_ was an understatement). “It happens, Swan.”

“No. I had _two_. And I’m no lightweight,” she mumbled, biting her nails. “Something’s off.”

“Was anybody near your drink?” he questioned, a slight wince to his tone.

“You think somebody drugged my drink?” Her eyes widened, her hand clasped over her mouth.

“Aye, that’s exactly what I think,” Killian grumbled. “I’ll bet Jefferson had something to do with this. Bloody arse.”

Emma groaned. “Killian, um... did I do anything stupid last night?” she asked timidly.

“Ah... well, not necessarily,” he stammered, scratching behind his ear, gaze honing in on her lips, pretty and plump, her tongue darting out to wet them ( _yes, Emma, you did something stupid, and it involved those blasted lips of yours and I was a bloody fool for letting you do it_ ).

“No, I did. You’re lying!”

She slapped his chest before he caught her hand there, holding it tight against him. He shuddered as her thumb rubbed the tufts of dark hair peeking out from under his black fitted shirt. She tucked her bottom lip under her teeth as she searched for something, scanning his face for an answer that he hoped to all hell she wouldn’t find.

“Oh _wow_ ,” she murmured.

“Anything?” Killian whispered, his tone low and gravelly.

“No, not really,” she said on a frustrated sigh. “What did I do?”

He detected the uneasiness in her eyes, the nervous frown on her lips, the lines marring her forehead and he knew he couldn’t tell her, couldn’t let her know that she’d come on to him, that she’d...

“You punched Victor,” he finally stated with a low chuckle.

“No wonder my hand hurts like hell,” she groused. “So Victor was there?”

“I assume so, though you’d have to confirm that with my dear cousin,” he offered. “For all we know, you could have hallucinated the whole incident on your walk home.”

He watched as she stepped back to fetch herself a glass of water and grinned as she lifted up on her toes to get a glass out of the cabinet above her, her shirt riding up her bare thighs _again_ , showing the slightest hint of black lace underneath. God, she’ll be the death of him.

“So, anything on the agenda for today, Jones?” she asked, filling the glass to take a long sip, a refreshing moan of content directly following it.

He cleared his throat. “Uh... well, besides your morning meeting with the flying monkey you call a detective...”

She snorted at his joke before fetching two ibuprofens out of another cabinet. “The monkey has a name.”

“I think monkey suits him quite well,” he joked, smirking as she toyed with the loose curls tucked behind her ear. “Anyway, my aunt wants you to meet with her to start planning the wedding.”

She practically choked on her water. “Seriously?”

He shook his head, chuckling at her protest. “My aunt is absolutely serious. She wants to help you, since I told her you were an orphan.”

“Wait, what? You told her that?” Emma swiftly interrupted, hand outstretched in protest. “Killian, that isn’t part of the department approved backstory.”

“Well, I didn’t see the harm in telling her, especially if she’s planning on arranging our _nuptials_ ,” he teased, sauntering over to her spot on the other side of the kitchen, right next to the bloody refrigerator (could he ever look at that appliance the same way again?). “She’s very detail-oriented, Swan.”

“I’ll have to see if the department even wants us to go that far,” Emma rattled off, sipping on her water, trying to rid herself of the tension she suddenly held in her shoulders.

“I’m sure they’ll come around,” Killian reassured her, wincing before he blurted out, “Considering my uncle thinks the FBI is in town.”

Emma gasped. “Shit, you’re kidding, right?”

“I’m afraid not, Swan. He thinks it’s Victor, so _we_ don’t need to give him any reason to think otherwise,” Killian explained, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’ve already done enough damage and we’ve been here naught but a week.”

“So, if I play along with this whole wedding thing,” Emma began, both hands clasping her glass, wiping off the beads of condensation with her thumbs.

“Then he’ll be more inclined to believe you and I to be who we say we are,” Killian finished for her. “It’s almost guaranteed.”

Emma downed the rest of her water before looking up at him incredulously. “It’s just... I’m not into that kind of stuff.”

“Wait, are you telling me little Emma Swan never dreamed about her wedding day?” Killian raised an eyebrow in skepticism.

“I’m just not a wedding kind of person,” she stated, placing the empty glass in the sink. Her fingers traced his mother’s diamond still sitting on her left hand. “I just never got into it. You know, the flowers and the dress and cheesy vows. It’s silly girl stuff.”

“Then do this purely for the sake of the investigation,” he suggested. “Or for me.” Killian pouted playfully, bending down to make eye contact with her.

“Stop it. You look ridiculous.” She rolled her eyes at him when he whimpered, swatting his chest when he stepped closer, invading her space.

He could feel the heat simmering between them again, could almost _taste_ it, and his lips longed to kiss hers, his hand itching to hike that shirt up and run his fingertips across her bare thigh (he could have sworn he saw her head tilt upwards, as if she was waiting to catch his lips should he make a move, as if she felt this strong pull too).

“So you’ll do it?” he asked, backing away as if he’d been burned, scratching the back of his neck in an effort to calm himself.

“I suppose I’ll go pick out invitations and flower arrangements and lace and tulle and...” She brought her finger to her mouth to make a playful gagging noise before flashing that bright smile of hers in his direction. “But only because it’ll make you happy.”

She lightheartedly tapped the tip of his nose before turning away from him to step out of the kitchen and he wondered how he ever thought he’d be able to keep real feelings out of this as a vision of her in a white dress, curls pinned back, green eyes glowing as she walked down the aisle towards him ran through his mind and had him nearly drooling in its wake.

* * *

A wedding? A _wedding_? Emma shook her head. It was ridiculous. She was not the wedding type. She hated them, in fact, hated the whole idea of marriage because nobody should make a promise like that if they couldn’t ensure its certainty.

She wondered if Killian remembered that this was fake, because the slight glimmer in his eyes when he mentioned a possible ceremony made her believe otherwise. They didn’t really need to do this, they could make up some story that it would be in a few years, put it off until the very last minute, could even lie and claim they eloped (although she knew his family wouldn’t go for that).

But _he_ wanted a _wedding_ , a _marriage_ and that scared her, because how could she keep whatever was bubbling to the surface for him at bay if he was going to throw that into the mix. An engagement was one thing, she could handle the engagement, but a _wedding_ was pushing it (a wedding that wasn’t even hers, that wasn’t even _real_ ).

“Feeling better?” David asked as she came up behind him in the basement.

She nodded. “Yeah, just needed some water, a shower and a change of clothes.” She pressed over the loose-fitted tank on her torso, sitting in one of the seats across from David. She waved at the screen, a picture of Walsh in his Boston apartment coming into full view. “Hey there, Walsh.”

“Hey, Emma,” he responded, mock saluting. “David.”

“Made any progress?” David asked, legal pad spread out in front of him as his pen drummed against the table.

Walsh clicked his tongue. “Had some of the uniforms look into it, said it was related to a domestic dispute. They didn’t find much. Seems like this woman either never existed, or if she did, she did a hell of a job disappearing.”

“Well, I managed to sneak into Teach’s office at the pub,” Emma began, feeling David’s judgmental stare boring into the side of her head, disregarding it as she continued, “And I found a name. _Maggie_.”

“Is there a Maggie in Killian’s family?” Walsh asked, and Emma shook her head.

“Nope, lots of other names, but no Maggie that I could recall.” Emma closed her eyes, remembering the musky scent of the office, the dark feel of the entire room, the files strewn across the desk (the file folder on Killian giving her pause, because there was still something missing about him, a strikingly handsome blonde man by his side, a name from his past that she couldn’t quite recall from her nightly escapade with Ruby).

“Was there anything else, Emma?” David asked, scribbling the spoken name on his legal pad.

She jolted out of her daze. “No, just that. But I think this could be our woman. I don’t have a last name, but if we research all the Maggies in the Boston area, get some uniforms to look into the high school graduation records from around then, maybe we could find some possible leads. I know it’ll take time away from searching for Boyle, but she could be in danger or she could help us find him or she could be used as bait for Teach.”

“I’ll do the best I can, Em,” Walsh quickly responded.

“So will we,” David nodded in agreement. “I’ll call the department and have them look into it immediately.”

“Alright then, until next time.” Walsh chuckled before signing off, the screen coming up with the Federal Bureau of Investigation logo.

Emma bit the inside of her cheek in contemplation, wondering why this woman, this _Maggie_ would just up and leave. It made sense that Danny Boyle would send her away for her own safety, but why not follow her? Why stay in Boston, marry someone else, start a family and a life and a career in this city when the woman you supposedly loved was _gone_?

It didn’t make sense, because Emma knew the feeling of losing the one you _loved_ , she knew the pain and the suffering that followed, knew how it affected her whole self (knew how is still _did_ ). And if the person she loved was sent away, she just knew she couldn’t move on. This whole case was clear evidence of how she _couldn’t_.

If you loved someone, unconditionally _loved_ someone, you wouldn’t send them away and then never go after them... unless you didn’t know they were leaving to begin with.

“You never told me about breaking into Teach’s office,” David scolded her, gathering his things.

Emma exhaled in frustration. “I can take care of myself. And besides, Killian would protect me if anything happened, which he’s already done. _Twice_.”

“I know,” David headed for the steps. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. I can’t vouch for him if he engages in any criminal activity at your expense.”

“My expense?”

“Oh, come on,” David scoffed. “You’ve had him wrapped around your finger since day one.”

Her partner was usually so reserved; the fact that he was boldly commenting about the nature of her and Killian’s relationship was completely out of character. “What are you talking about?”

“You seriously don’t see it?” He chuckled, running his free hand through the blonde hair atop his head. “The yearning looks, the way he lights up when you enter the room, the fact that he can’t keep his damn eyes off you to save his life.”

“Well, maybe he’s practicing our routine for...”

“No, Emma, he’s _not_ ,” David declared, stepping forward. “I see what’s happening here, and I’m not entirely sure it’s one-sided.”

Emma backed away, shrugging her shoulders indifferently. “I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

David sighed. “Look, the last time you got involved with a partner, do you remember how that ended?”

Her lips fell open in astonishment, her breath backing up into her lungs as the memory rushed forward (the car, the harbor, _him_ , lifeless and gone and buried away, both literally and figuratively) before she rubbed her face over with her hand.

“I don’t have feelings for Killian Jones,” she asserted, her mind defying her as his blue eyes and warm smile and comforting embrace flashed before her, making her heart clench in a way that reminded her of exactly why she didn’t need this, why she needed it to just _go away_.

“Keep telling yourself that,” David quipped, before turning around to head up the steps. “Maybe you’ll start believing it.”

* * *

By the time she’d managed to compose herself, Killian was gone, no doubt off with his uncle on some sort of excursion, proving that he was, in fact, back for good. David’s words haunted her though as she headed out to spend an afternoon with Killian’s aunt in Southie.

_Maybe you’ll start believing it_.

There were moments she knew something sparked between her and Killian (this morning in particular, the other day at the pub, the way he’d fought for her and worried about her, the way he’d reassured her and supported her, the way he’d _kissed_ her, and god, the man could kiss). But David was right. Her last partner was gone, lost to her forever, and she knew she couldn’t put herself through that again, knew she couldn’t fall for him if she was only going to lose him too (because nothing was ever hers, not her partner, not her parents, so Killian would be no different).

She walked up to the front door, hesitantly knocking on it. _Just pretend. You can pretend, Emma. It’s wedding planning. You can smile your way through the whole thing without needing to gag._

“Emily!” she heard exclaimed as the door opened wide, Aunt Maura’s short frame standing on the other side. She pulled Emma into a warm embrace, guiding her into the living room before heading towards the kitchen to gather their lunch.

The living room was no bigger than her bedroom at their condo in Beacon Hill, but it felt cozier, _warmer_ , and she could sense how hard it must have been for Killian to leave this when he abandoned everything. She peered around the room, taking notice of the various photographs of his aunt and uncle, of him and Ruby as kids, a teenage Jefferson and a large fish (the man looked grimy even then).

She wandered into the adjoining dining room, taking in the smell of lilacs and vanilla, the inviting scent of delicious food wafting from the kitchen. The wall was filled with portraits and memories and _family_ but one stuck out at her like a sore thumb: Killian with a blonde man that looked suspiciously like the one in his file back at Teach’s office.

“Ruby should be here shortly,” Maura stated when she entered the dining room, placing a tray full of pastrami sandwiches down, several pasta salads adorning the table. “She got a call from that boyfriend of hers.”

“Victor?”

“Yes, Victor,” Maura nodded. “She called and said she’d be here in a few, told us not to wait.”

Emma nodded politely, still studying the wall in front of her, the picture that had her almost frozen in contemplation (there was a smile on Killian’s face, the blonde man looking down at him with pride, and it was the happiest she’d ever seen him).

“That’s Killian and his older brother, Liam,” Maura stated solemnly, and when Emma turned, there was a look of deep regret plaguing the lines of the other woman’s face.

“I’ve... I’ve never heard of a brother,” Emma murmured, an obvious invitation to discuss the matter.

“That’s because he passed away,” Maura said with a despondent sigh. “It’s a shame. Died five years ago in an awful boating accident in Dartmouth.”

Five years ago. That was when Killian left, when he ran away from of all of _this_ and it suddenly made sense, why he knew what it felt like to lose someone. Could Teach have taken Killian’s own brother?

Emma felt her heart pound in her chest, tears welling up in her eyes, the need to run her fingers through his dark hair and rub her thumbs across his jaw as she cupped his cheek, whispering soft encouragements and...

“We should eat, dear,” Maura abruptly interrupted, changing the dark subject to something about wedding invitations as she guided Emma away.

* * *

Ruby eventually showed up, later than Aunt Maura had anticipated, and they spent hours talking about venues and dresses and flowers and processional music and band versus DJ and it had Emma’s head spinning in every which direction.

“So, what’s your favorite color?” Ruby asked as she refilled Emma’s cup with lemonade, the two younger girls spread out on the floor of the living room as Maura looked on from the couch.

“Hmm, blue? Or red,” Emma responded, noticing when Ruby’s gaze glittered at the latter choice. “You’d look awesome in red though, so maybe we’ll go with that.”

“You’d have to dye this awful streak out of your hair before the ceremony, dear,” Maura said with a scoff, leaning over to touch the strand, flouncing it away from Ruby’s shoulder.

“I like it,” Emma added, sipping on her lemonade. “The red streak, I mean.”

Ruby blushed, the stain matching her eccentric hair. “Most people don’t. My mother _hates_ it.”

“Well, if I find a dress to match it,” Emma clinked glasses with Ruby. “It stays.”

Maura picked up an album full of pictures of her own wedding from the end table. “You know, I might still have this dress.” She pointed towards the satin gown, white marshmallow-like puffs of fabric billowing off her shoulders, a very ornate lace veil hovering over her face.

“Aunt Maura!” Ruby leaned up, snatching the album out of her hand. “She’s not wearing that _thing_.”

“That _thing_ was a family heirloom!” she retorted, smile quirking at the corners of her lips. “It was passed down from my mother and the lace veil was sewn by hand by her grandmother. Oh, it would look just lovely on you!”

Ruby groaned loudly, and Maura chuckled. “But I suppose you’d rather pick out your own. You and Ruby should come by the bridal shop some time soon. It’s over on East 5th and L Street. Nora would know exactly how to dress you.”

“Nora?”

“My mother,” Ruby reminded her, Emma answering with a silent “oh.”

Maura plucked one of the wedding magazines from the floor, thumbing through the pages. “You know, you would look absolutely stunning in a mermaid gown! Oh, with a strapless bodice and an overlay of white lace. Or even a satin v-neck or perhaps a princess style ball gown!”

“I think she’d look marvelous in any of those,” they heard spoken in a soft lilt behind them, Emma peering up to see Killian strolling into the living room. “Of course, my opinion is slightly biased.”

Emma stood up, surging forward to embrace Killian, holding him just a little tighter than usual. She was happy to see him, amidst all this wedding nonsense.

“Hey there,” he whispered on a sharp gasp, sounding more than surprised by her overwhelming embrace.

“Hey yourself,” she answered, his body solid against hers as she tightly wrapped her arms around his neck, careful not to spill her drink.

“You hungry?” Maura asked as she got up. “We have some leftover pastrami and pasta salad.” She wandered into the dining room, returning with a prepared sandwich and other assorted snacks, setting them down on the coffee table. “I even got your favorite: Oreos.”

Killian looked down at the tray, nose scrunching in disgust at the vanilla wafer and cream cookies. “Now, Aunt Maura, I may be a grown man, but I’ll only eat the original Oreos. These golden ones are absolute rubbish.”

“Oh, well it’s been a while,” Maura reminded him with a chuckle and a squeeze of his cheek. “This little schnookum was such a picky eater back in the day!”

“Has my dear aunt been drinking?” Killian griped. “And should she really be helping you plan a wedding when she can’t even purchase the correct cookie?”

“Oh, it’s fine. And besides, I could certainly use the help. I’m _absolute_ _rubbish_ at this,” Emma teased, trying to imitate his signature lilt and giggling when his jaw dropped at her failed attempt. She took a final swig of her drink before handing him the empty glass. “Now it’s your turn, schnookum.”

She pushed Killian into the couch, shoving a spare magazine in his lap as Ruby propped herself next to him, helping him thumb through it as Emma walked out of the room, heading down the hallway towards the bathroom.

She could hear the murmur of Ruby’s teasing voice summarizing the article about cakes and centerpieces, Killian scoffing at the _bloody simplicity of city hall_ , Maura shrieking at his off-hand comment and she chuckled at the absurdity of it because this was her life, stuck in Southie in the middle of the afternoon perusing bridal magazines with the wife of a known mobster, picking out which color Ruby looked best in and which venue she’d like to state her vows to Killian in.

She could hear the loud timbre of a man’s voice as she walked past a set of double French doors, noticing the almost identical face of her partner in the living room. He was scratching his chin as he paced the room, phone clutched to his ear as he barked some sort of order at the sorry soul on the other line before locking on to her frame hovering precariously in the doorway.

“I didn’t see you there. Apologies,” Edward stated. He whispered something into the phone before hanging up, hand gesturing her to come in. “Is there something you need, sweetheart?”

Emma stepped in hesitantly, studying the office that looked much tidier than the one at the pub, noticing the scent of salt and musk and whiskey that still lingered here as well (she half-wondered if the scent followed him around, like Killian’s own signature scent, _not like she’d noticed_ ).

“I was... uh... looking for the bathroom,” she began and he sniggered.

“Of course, you were.” He circled around the desk to stand before her. “It seems, my dear, that you are always looking for things that are right in front of you. It’s the next door on the left.”

“Okay, I should go take care of that then.” She gestured to the hallway, tentatively backing up towards the open doors. “Your wife is probably wondering what’s taking me so long.”

She turned, but not before Edward grabbed her wrist, strong enough that she couldn’t break free.

“You know, my Killian has never looked happier than when he’s with you.” His expression was soft as he scanned her face for something she couldn’t quite place.

“Yeah?”

“And yet, it all seems a little too good to be true, if you ask me,” he explained, his expression tightening along with the grip on her wrist. “Because you, my dear, concern me as it appears that your sudden arrival has brought all sorts of new complications.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” she answered, trembling under the intense gaze of this man, this evil _evil_ man.

“I’m not saying it’s you or Killian,” he continued, letting go of her wrist and running the same hand through his hair. “I’m merely stating that trouble seems to enjoy your company, and I’d be stupid to not take notice of it.”

Emma felt the air back up into her lungs, gulping hard to calm herself. She heard Killian’s voice, exasperatedly shouting about _damn carnations_ and _what’s a cummerbund?_ and _this dress looks like a bloody cupcake_ and she pivoted before she could freak out, before Edward Teach could say anything, before she could give herself _away_ like a freaking idiot.

She knew this would be a risky operation, was aware that the way they went about infiltrating this family would be a hard sell if they didn’t do it properly, if they didn’t really commit to the role (like her partner had taught her, despite the fact that the exact advice he’d always instilled in her was the exact reason he was _gone_ ).

If she was being honest, completely and utterly honest, she was feeling _something_ for Killian, could sense it every time she was in his company and as she entered the living room, his brow furrowed in concentration, annoyed frown marring his lips, there was something about him that she couldn’t _shake_ (it didn’t help that his head lifted from the _blasted magazine_ , lips breaking into a warm smile when she graced him with her presence as if she was holding the sun and the moon and the damn stars in her hands).

“Can I talk to Killian for a moment? Alone?”

Maura and Ruby nodded, heading into the dining room to clean up after lunch, taking Killian’s empty plate with them. Emma pulled him up off the couch and led him towards an empty corner of the room, turning her back towards the rest of the house.

“Your uncle is on to me,” she whispered, and Killian’s eyebrows shot up to the top of his forehead.

“Bloody hell,” he mumbled, scratching behind his neck. “Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure,” she answered, shuddering as she shifted her weight from foot to foot, averting his worried gaze. “He said something about trouble always following me and that you’ve never looked happier but it seems too good to be true and I concern him and he’d be stupid not to notice an—”

“Love, look at me,” he interrupted, taking both of her hands in his and pulling them close to his chest, forcing her to meet his stare. “He’s not going to hurt you. As long as I’m here, I promise he won’t.”

“Really?” She knew the answer, because of course he would, stupid man that he was.

“Aye.” He pulled her into his embrace, swaying her gently. His lips brushed her ear softly as he whispered, “Follow my lead, love.”

She pushed back a little, eyebrow raised in silent question.

“Aunt Maura! When are we going to the summer homes in Dartmouth?” Killian hollered.

“End of the summer,” Maura called back, entering the living room with a calendar in tow.

Killian took Emma’s hands in his again. “What do you say we get married then, love?”

“ _What_?” Emma nearly squawked out, her voice rising about three octaves. “That’s not enough time to plan and coordinate and—”

“You said it yourself this morning, you’re not really into this stuff,” Killian teased, ignoring Emma’s muffled groan. “And I can’t imagine a better place to get wed than the beach at sunset, and Dartmouth is really quite beautiful at the end of the season.”

“ _Killian_ ,” she whined, leaning in. “I... I don’t know.”

He swiftly cupped her face, thumbs swiping across the apples of her cheeks. “I don’t want to waste anymore time, love. I’d bloody marry you today, if my Aunt Maura wouldn’t disown me for not doing it properly.”

Emma’s mouth fell agape. It was moments like these where she wondered how much was for show and how much was for _them_. His eyes were glittering, so _blue_ and anxious as she searched for an answer, but as his soft smile shone towards her, hopeful and full of something she wasn’t quite sure of, she found the answer she needed (no matter how _fake_ this was).

“Okay,” she murmured and his face lit up at her response.

He swiftly pulled her into his arms, whisking her around in a circle, her feet lifting into the air as she snaked her arms around his neck for purchase, an excited squeak escaping her throat unexpectedly. He kissed her temple when her feet finally met the floor, his hands clutching her waist, mumbling _bloody brilliant_  and _amazing_ as Maura and Ruby squealed in excitement.

“What’s all this racket about?” Edward asked, eyeing up the happy couple in his living room when he appeared.

“Emily and Killian are going to get married in Dartmouth!” Ruby cried. “At the end of the summer!”

“Oh, are they now?” Edward questioned suspiciously.

Emma pulled back, nodding. “Yeah, we are.” She looked up at him as Killian’s smile continued to beam down at her, lighting a fire inside of her, filling the empty cracks the loss of her partner had created until it dawned on her...

Oh god, they were getting _married_ and suddenly, it felt so real and so _right_.

Maybe this wasn’t as one-sided as she thought.

* * *

“Married? At the end of the summer?” David asked, a light scoff falling from his lips as he leaned against the wall in their living room. “Do you realize the strings we’ll have to pull to make this look legit?”

Killian nodded as he sat on the couch across from him. “I’m aware, but we have a damn good reason for it.”

“And what’s that?” David pushed.

Killian thought of the slight tremble in Emma’s body as she told him of his uncle’s conversation with her. If his uncle was on to her, if he thought whatever they presented wasn’t _real_ , her life was in grave danger and he couldn’t let that happen, couldn’t let her succumb to the same fate as her partner, as his...

He remembered his afternoon with his uncle, tying up loose ends concerning their investigation into Victor Whale, determining he was just as normal a bloke as any. The realization that he couldn’t pawn off the wary suspicions of his uncle onto this man made him curse under his breath, but he had been allowed a private moment in his uncle’s office at the pub, which led Killian to uncover a few marked up maps of the familiar summer escape his family enjoyed each year.

“I believe my uncle is holding Boyle in Dartmouth,” Killian rattled off and Emma’s gaze darted towards him. “We have summer homes there, a few private docks and a private beach. The community doesn’t bother my uncle, and in return, he keeps their economy running smoothly.”

“Which means, he could keep someone hostage and it could go undiscovered,” David finished with a groan of irritation.

“Or worse, they could be in on it and simply turn a blind eye. I’ve seen it happen before,” Killian added.

“Look, David, we’d be visiting under seemingly normal circumstances,” Emma argued. “It’s a perfect opportunity. We’d be stupid not to go through with it.”

“Fine, _fine_ ,” David grumbled, getting up to leave. “I’ll let Walsh know, but he’ll be none too happy.”

Emma mouthed a silent thank you as David trudged to his bedroom before she sat down next to Killian. “So we’re getting _married_?”

Killian huffed out a sigh. “Aye.” He turned to look at her, anxiety creeping into his gaze. He noticed her hand inching towards him, her palm resting comfortably on his thigh as she stroked her thumb against his jeans.

“I mean, there’s so much to do, and now we have barely any time to plan,” she began as she pressed forward, hand creeping to the inner side of his thigh.

“Swan, it’s all for show,” he croaked out, his voice rough as he felt her hand trail towards his crotch.

“I know, I just...” He could feel her breath hot on his face, her knees brushing against his, her head tilting to reach his lips. “It could be fun to play pretend here too.”

“No,” he blurted out, jumping off the couch, causing her to nearly crash onto the cushions where he’d previously sat. “In this house, everything is purely business.”

“What?” she insisted upon hearing her own claim (her own _lie_ ) tumbling from his lips.

“Like you’ve said before,” he explained, deprecating smirk on his lips. “This whole investigation is business. Our relationship only exists outside those doors. We should keep it that way.”

“Fine, if that’s what you want,” she began, clearly debating something before her mouth opened again to speak. “Just tell me about Liam.”

He froze, the name running through his veins, catching fire, burning and turning to ash in his heart. “Who gave you that name?”

“I saw a picture of him in your aunt’s house. She told me he died in a boating accident but we both know that’s a lie,” Emma started, gaze imploring him to finish the story. “And if this is purely business, then I need to know everything. So, what happened to Liam?”

“Bloody hell, Swan. Is this your way of getting back at me for not accepting your advances?” He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long exhale. “Digging up ghosts from my past and flaunting them in my face?”

She shifted back on the couch, arms splayed behind her. “Look, I know he’s your brother, Killian, so either you can tell me what happened or I can search for it in the NCIC database or—”

“You won’t find the answer there, or anywhere for that matter,” he objected, stalking towards the kitchen. “And why should I tell you anything at all, considering you haven’t even told me about your beloved partner?”

“Because this isn’t about me!” She got up to follow him, attempting to keep up with his brisk pace. “This is about you and what your uncle did. Just talk to me about it. Please!”

“Swan, would you just bloody well leave it _alone_?” he snapped, pivoting to glare at her as his cheeks blazed red and his jaw clenched.

His eyes grew misty once she locked on to his gaze, the seriousness of her expression having fallen, softened by the pain etched into his.

“I... I just thought... I’m sorry, Killian.”

He shook his head, “Me too.”

Killian tried to brush the thoughts away, the phone call, _his_ last words, the gunshot that felt like it went straight through his own _heart_ and he spun around, resuming his path towards the kitchen. He grabbed a bottle of rum, knowing that alcohol was the only logical solution to quell the nightmares that would likely reappear at the reminder of who he no longer had, of who he had lost at the hands of his uncle, his evil, _wretched_ uncle.

Liam. Liam. _Liam._

He slammed his door and plopped down on the edge of his bed, palms rubbing at his eyes to keep the tears from falling. If Liam were here now, he would be appalled at the bloody disgrace of a man that he’d become, of the evil that lived in his heart and of the vengeance and hatred that seemed to seep through his soul (he oddly felt that Emma had softened some of that, had brought light and warmth and _love_ back into his life, but he didn’t deserve her, and he certainly couldn't keep falling for her).

He opened the bottle and took a long swig, then another and before he knew it, half the rum was gone. They needed to solve this case, if not just for Emma and her fallen partner, but for his brother, for his _Liam_.


	8. Chapter 8

Emma wanted to apologize, not only for pushing him but for opening a wound that was probably still raw to the touch. He was just as broken as she was, she could see it in his eyes, but if he didn’t want to talk, she shouldn’t have been so relentless, should have backed off, should have just _let it be_ , because he’d never once pushed her to bring up the topic of her fallen partner before tonight (and she sensed that he only did it to stab her as hard as she did him).

Yet, she recognized this, all of _this_ : the closed off demeanor, the walls, the attitude when she tried to get him to open up. It was all classic Emma, the version that had been molded and created after years of loneliness and abandonment and loss. She was the last person to expect someone else to set that entire routine aside because somebody else  _asked_ (let alone somebody like _her_ , because regardless of whatever feelings were bubbling up inside, they were undercover and they weren’t together and she shouldn’t have let her heart get invested because he would leave when the case was over, go back to prison or home confinement or something and forget all about her, like her parents, like her partner, like _everyone_ ).

After she'd lost her partner, she closed herself off, began an intimate relationship with Jack Daniels and found solace in one night stands and the like, if only to feel the warmth of someone else for a few short minutes. It helped, for a while. She even found herself in Boston on several occasions, Walsh’s rough hands clutching her waist, her legs wrapped around his hips, imagining the feel of someone else, never quite sure if she’d whispered his name when she fell or that of someone she’d never have again.

It wasn’t until she found herself at the range, firing off a few rounds of a new gun the department was issuing its criminal investigative division that she found her memories of her partner wash away for a while, as if it was just her and the gun and the damn silhouette at the other end of the range.

She started arriving at work earlier and earlier, locking herself away with her gun in hand, firmly grasping it like an anchor, imagining it was Teach at the other end as she fired relentlessly into him, a bullet for every memory that he took from her, every future one she would never have. And it was then that her need for revenge grew, never quite satisfied when she left, knowing that the real criminal was still out there, ready to harm the next sorry soul with his particular brand of evil.

Emma _understood_ Killian because of that, and it made it all the more difficult for her to stay away because she felt something and she knew his past was like hers, knew that Liam’s loss mirrored her partner’s, and she just couldn’t let him deal with that _alone_ as she found herself in front of his bedroom door, hesitant to knock, until the door flung open to him on the other side.

“Oh, it's Agent Swan! My favorite federal employee!” he slurred, running a hand through his hair (it looked as if he’d been doing that a lot, his hair a wild mess atop his head). “Is this my morning wake up call?”

She shifted in place, confused by his use of her title, mouth agape, the words she’d been rehearsing for the past three hours in the living room suddenly dry on her tongue.

“Did you need something?” he asked, studying her bewildered expression, his eyelids drooping as he leaned precariously against the doorframe.

“It’s not morning, Jones,” she blurted out, gesturing to the still dark sky outside.

He scratched the back of his neck before waltzing towards the window. “Ah, I suppose it isn’t.”

“I... um... I just wanted to apologize,” she began, steeping into his bedroom. The comforter on his bed looked crumpled, and the stench of rum filled the air. An almost empty bottle sat on his nightstand and she realized he’d swallowed his own sorrows in alcohol since he’d departed.

“Oh,” he merely stated, not turning around to look at her.

She walked over, stepping in front of him to make sure he met her gaze, noticing the puffy red around the clear blue of his eyes. Her heart tightened, and she cursed herself for acting like a complete bitch to him downstairs.

“It was wrong of me to push. I shouldn’t have brought up your brother,” she continued, reaching forward before shoving her hands in her pockets. “But, you and I, we understand each other. Look out for yourself and nobody gets hurt, right?”

“It’s worked quite well for me, Agent Swan,” he offered, before tipping his head to her. He sauntered over to his nightstand, taking a swig of rum and nearly finishing the bottle. “Rum?”

“Dear _God_ , Killian, is alcohol your answer to everything?” she grumbled, running a hand through her hair.

“Perhaps,” he stated with a cock of his brow, strolling back towards her to toy with a loose strand of hair hanging across her shoulder. “What’s got you all riled up?”

“You,” she revealed, which elicited the smuggest smirk she’d ever seen from him, his tongue gliding over the top of his teeth in the most sinful manner.

This was the Killian she’d never seen, the one who seemed to have disappeared the moment he’d walked through the doors of this house and started this whole damn investigation, the one who was endlessly trying to charm his way into her heart, despite every ounce of the womanizer reputation the man had previously held.

(This was the _broken_ Killian, she reminded herself, the one who drowned himself in liquor and hid his past behind a mask of flirtatiousness and mobster swagger. She knew what his rock bottom looked like now, and she almost felt like she was intruding on some private part of his personality, a part she didn’t entirely wish to see anymore, knowing that she was the cause of it.)

“Oh, I do like when a woman is riled up over me,” he murmured, the scent of rum wafting from his breath and ghosting over her face.

“Shut the hell up, Jones,” Emma scoffed, shoving him back, causing him to stumble into his bed.

“Oh, and now the ever-so-lovely Agent Swan has pushed me into bed!” He practically giggled as he propped himself up on his elbows, tongue clicking in his cheek. “This night keeps surprising me, as do you. Shall I fetch the condoms, or would you like to do the honors?” His hand flourished in a grand gesture towards his crotch.

“Would you knock it _off_?” She rubbed her hands over her face, moaning in disgust before she spoke again. “Look, I know this isn’t really you. I know this is a mask you put on to hide what you’re really feeling. And I get that, okay? I know I haven’t opened up... but I want to and... Well, we can either be truthful with each other about our pasts and help one another or you can do what you do best and be alone.”

“Quite passionate, Agent Swan,” Killian stated with a smirk, averting his eyes from her stern gaze.

He called her an agent _again_. Not love, or Emma, or just _Swan_ , and it made her feel uneasy, the impersonal way her title sounded against his lips. This wasn’t _her_ Killian (and that fact alone should have made her defenses shoot up in an instant).

“So what’s it going to be?” She studied him as he shook his head, letting out a huff of exasperation.

“I don’t... I don't know,” he muttered under his breath, his eyes never meeting hers, and it felt like her heart had lurched into her throat when his voice broke like that.

“Maybe we should spend some time apart then,” Emma suggested on a deep exhale. This wasn't what she wanted.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he agreed, stare still fixated on the ground.

She pivoted and headed out the door, thinking that maybe he didn’t care about her like she thought he did.

(She ignored the whisper of _Goodnight, love_ on her way out, convinced she’d imagined it, knowing full well that she hadn’t).

* * *

Emma watched as Ruby’s mother, a lovely, much older woman with pinned up grey hair, fawned over her daughter, praising each dress she tried on, rolling her eyes and huffing when Ruby scrunched her nose up at them in disgust.

They were a few dozen dresses in to the late afternoon, and Ruby hated them _all_. Really, truly _hated_ them.

Emma wondered if her life would have been like this had her parents not given her up. She always fantasized of what her mother would be like, if she had blonde hair like her or looked different (maybe like her own mother), if she was kind-hearted or stubborn and tough like Emma had become. Sometimes she figured she was like her father and imagined he was a noble, charming man, imparting years worth of wisdom upon her, treating her like a precious jewel. And sometimes she believed she was like neither of them, her own woman entirely, or a combination of both, taking the best traits from each, both physically and emotionally, and creating a strong, determined young woman.

She dreamed of siblings during those lonely nights in her foster home, of a little baby brother who she could coddle and spoil, of a little sister who would ask her to braid her hair or teach her about makeup or wipe her tears when she got dumped for the first time.

She dreamed of those things for herself as well, pondering what it would have been like, to have been _loved_ and _cared for_. It was enough to make her angry at the life she’d been given, and she couldn’t help but feel the sharp pang in her chest as Nora fought with Ruby about an atrocious green dress, thankful that, for a few more weeks or so, she could have this family and it would be enough to hold her over.

“Keep her in red,” Emma interrupted, Ruby nodding in approval. “I don’t care if it’s a bold color choice. Ruby always looks good in red.”

“See!” Ruby exclaimed, pounding her foot on the floor. “I told you, _mom_.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t mean I can’t try and change your mind,” Nora quipped, sighing as she guided Ruby back towards the racks full of red dresses.

“Two dozen dresses later,” Ruby snapped, earning her a slap from her mother that Emma could hear, even from this distance.

Yes, _this_ was exactly what she’d missed out on.

“Are we excited about the wedding?” she heard from behind her, Maura making her way into the back room of the small shop. She hadn’t expected Killian’s aunt to be here today, but she assumed Ruby let it slip that she might be trying on wedding dresses (the thought alone terrified her, especially after the fight she had with Killian and their decision to spend some time apart, because his loss at her side felt like a part of her was missing, and _he_ wasn’t a part of her, couldn’t be, they barely knew each other).

“I guess,” Emma responded, making room for Maura on the couch. “I’m more nervous than anything else. We’re kind of fighting a lot these days.”

“You’ll do fine,” the other woman reassured her. “I was terrified when I married my Eddie, and we’ve had our differences, I can assure you. But it all worked out in the end.”

Emma had thought long and hard about their marriage, about how it came to be and why Eddie, of all people, would forego the supposed _love of his life_ , the whole reason for his feud with Danny Boyle, the whole reason for her investigation, to marry Maura.

Maura was a lovely woman, a kind and gentle soul that Emma would have gladly lived with had the foster system placed her in this woman’s care (she smiled at the thought, realizing how lucky Killian was to have his aunt in his life), but she was certainly no _Maggie_.

“How did you two meet anyway?” Emma asked, and Maura’s eyes perked up, a warm smile growing on her lips.

“I was twenty, working at this very shop with my mother and my sisters,” Maura began, sighing at the memory. “My Eddie was quite the looker back then and I was just a mousy girl in a bridal shop. He came in here to pick up something for his Shauna. It was her birthday and she was turning twenty-one and he wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Who’s Shauna?” Emma wondered aloud.

“Oh, that’s Killian’s mother,” Maura said with a fond smile. “Lovely girl. Anyway, he came to get it and I just fell for him. I didn’t quite realize it though, not until he came back and looked so _broken_. I mean, he sounded fine, but his eyes said it all.”

Emma felt her heart do that clenching thing again as she thought of Killian’s own broken heart, of the pain in his eyes when she’d brought up his brother, of the way he couldn’t even look at her before she’d left (of the look she’d recognized in the mirror for so many years until Killian had waltzed into her life like a breath of fresh air, _damn him_ ).

“What happened to him?”

Maura fidgeted with her hands in her lap. “His sister ran off with some college graduate from Boston University. He was a history major on some study abroad scholarship, a foreigner from Ireland. _Davy Jones_.” She stated it with such remorse, Emma felt bad for the man.

“Did she ever come back?” Emma questioned, curious about the backstory to Killian’s family because after last night, she assumed he would never tell her a damn thing.

Maura shook her head. “No, she stayed over there. Got married, had two sons. Eddie was so distraught though, and I took care of him through the whole thing. I suppose he married me as his way of saying thank you." She sighed. "Eddie’s not a man of words. In fact, none of the men in this family are.”

“You can say that again,” Emma scoffed, causing Maura to chuckle.

“The men in this family hide behind a mask. It takes a strong woman to venture behind it, and an even stronger woman to get him to take off the mask entirely,” Maura explained to her, clasping Emma’s hand in her own.

“I don’t think I’m the right woman for the job,” Emma doubted, staring blankly at the floor.

Maura lifted her chin up so she could meet her gaze, rubbing her thumb over the dent there. “No, you are. You are everything I could have ever wished for my dear Killian. Don’t be so hard on yourself, child.”

Emma weakly smiled, trying to keep the tears from falling as she blushed, turning her face away before getting up to head towards the dress racks.

“Want to help me look for a dress?”

Maura grinned. “It would be my pleasure.”

* * *

Maura had great taste, better taste than her older sister, and she picked out several dresses that Emma couldn't wait to get into. Ruby had given up for the day, stating that she’d rather go to the David’s Bridal down the street than continue to get reprimanded by her mother for her tacky choice of hemlines.

Emma stepped into the third dress, exhaling in relief as Nora sewed her up from behind.

“Has Maura given you the _talk_?” Nora asked, causing Emma to choke on her own inhale.

“I’m sorry, what?” Emma exclaimed as Nora worked through the laces of her bodice.

“The whole _how to please your man_ speech,” Nora responded with a pull on her dress. “Our mother used to give it to us as a rite of passage.”

Emma felt her face go red, the color most likely staining her cheeks and rushing down her neck. She probably looked like a damn tomato at this point. “I’m a grown woman. I don’t need the talk, Nora.”

“Oh, please, call me _Granny_. Everybody else does.” She yanked on a strand, causing the bodice to tighten some more. “I only ask because sometimes men have wandering eyes, especially men as dashing as your Killian,” the other woman joked, a sharp tug following it, causing Emma to gasp loudly.

“Yeah, no... I don’t think...” Emma stumbled, trying to find what she needed to say. “I don’t think I’ll need to worry about that.”

“So you keep him satisfied in the bedroom?” she bluntly asked, and Emma felt the steam rise from the flush of her skin.

“Yeah, sure,” Emma answered, shaking her head as Nora finished the laces.

She hummed in content at her response. “It’s just... I don’t mean to gossip, but I think that’s part of the reason why my sister’s marriage is falling apart.”

“Falling apart?” Emma was slightly confused. Only a little while ago, she was having a conversation with a woman who appeared to be completely smitten with her husband, and vice versa.

The older woman sighed, regretting her decision to speak, but continued anyway. “There’s lots of rumors around town, but I think he’s seeing someone from his past.”

“Oh?” Emma’s interest was suddenly piqued, the color in her cheeks draining as the subject changed to something investigation worthy. She always loved a good lead.

Nora paced the small dressing room, careful to keep her voice low. “This whole bit with Danny Boyle missing made me remember that there was a girl they were both in love with. A  _Maggie_ something-or-another. She was this young Jewish girl, black hair and green eyes, and we were all jealous of her 'cause she was beyond beautiful.”

“You think he’s seeing _her_?” Emma questioned, mentally trying to capture this conversation and remember it for later.

“I don’t know, maybe?” she winced. “It’s just... all those years ago, Maggie just disappeared. It was before Eddie even met Maura, but I remember it because Maggie was around the same age as me.”

Emma tried to act disinterested. “Well, where’d she go? I mean, if she disappeared, then Eddie isn’t seeing her.”

“That’s the thing,” Nora continued on a sharp whisper. “I think Eddie’s the reason she disappeared. And I think it was because she was pregnant. And I don’t think Eddie knew, and I don’t even think Danny knew, and it was probably his kid.”

“Oh, well, how do you know that? I mean, rumors can run pretty wild,” Emma offered nonchalantly.

She huffed. “Danny’s mother used to come in here, and I heard her scolding his sister for asking if they should get Maggie those baggy maternity pants before she left.”

“Seems pretty random to me.” Emma shrugged her shoulders.

“Eh, you’re probably right. Besides, that’s all in the past,” Nora stated, turning Emma around so she could see herself in the mirror. “And you, sweetheart, are the future.”

Emma's breath hitched as she looked over the woman standing before her. The dress was a long mermaid style gown, complete with a lace overlay. It was strapless at the top, and her long wavy hair flowed out over her shoulders.

She looked like a  _princess,_ beautiful, breathtaking, and all she could think in that moment was how badly she wanted Killian’s face to grow soft at the sight of her walking towards him to be wed. 

* * *

Maura just about cried when Emma stepped out, finally ready to show something off to the other women. Nora fought sniffles as she continuously rearranged the train at the end as Emma glided around the room. Ruby took pictures for later reference, letting Emma look at them after she was changed and they were sitting idly in the store, the streetlights coming on as the sun set over Boston.

Nora slipped out to fetch them all some hot chocolate from a coffee shop down the street, and Maura continued to rattle off other things they needed to prepare for this wedding.

It was weird, to think that Emma would be getting _married_ , in some sense, to a man she barely knew but desperately wanted to unravel. He scared her, in that respect, because whatever he was hiding, whatever had destroyed him concerning his brother, was probably just as bad as the memories of her partner, the ones that continue to haunt her at night and keep her mild drinking habit afloat.

There was a sound at the front of the shop, and they assumed it was Ruby’s mom coming back before they heard a loud shout, familiar in that Emma had heard it once before, in a tense battle at the pub between Killian and some of the Boyles. That thought alone made her stomach grow queasy.

“Anybody home?”

Emma’s bones rattled at the timbre, dark and sinister, and it wasn’t until she made her way into the front room that she took in the uninvited visitor, tall and slender with brown hair and a malicious smirk. He had someone at his side, a lanky fellow with blonde hair pulled back behind his head. They both sneered in Emma’s direction, as Ruby and Maura appeared behind her.

“You’re Peter, right?” Emma asked, blocking the other two women with her body.

Peter chuckled, low and menacing. “Oh, good. The new girl remembers me.”

“What do you want, Peter?” Ruby chimed in, furrowing her brow at both men.

“I want _her_ ,” Peter said, pointing clearly towards Emma, one eyebrow raised in evil contemplation. “You see, I need to know where my uncle is.”

Emma scoffed. “What makes you think I know?”

“Oh, I know _you_ don’t,” he reminded her, stepping closer. “But your dear Killian does.”

Emma let out a shaky exhale. They knew Boyle could be in Dartmouth, but they weren’t entirely sure, and they wouldn’t have any definitive proof until Walsh sent some surveillance there to check it out, scope out the usual haunts of Teach and see if their theory had any leg to stand on. She definitely couldn’t tell this kid that.

“And if he doesn’t?” she pushed. “If he doesn’t know, then what do you plan to do with me?”

Peter smirked as he invaded her space, leering into her face with the darkest glint in his eyes. “Torture you, I suppose. Or kill you. Maybe it would send a message to your lover’s uncle that we Boyles mean business.”

Emma remained calm as she kept her eyes trained on Peter. “Let me get them out of here, so nobody else gets hurt, and... and you can have me.”

“Em, no!” Ruby shouted from behind her, but Emma had already made up her mind.

“Done,” Peter answered. “And if you run, sweetheart, I will come after you and I will kill you.”

Emma nodded in understanding as she guided both Ruby and Maura towards the door, pointing towards the coffee shop that she assumed Nora headed to. “You both go there. Tell Nora what happened. _Do not_ call the police.”

“But... but what if you get hurt or...” Ruby began, and there were tears in the poor girl’s eyes that Emma forced herself to ignore. She couldn’t get emotional now, she needed to remain calm, no matter how she felt (the rush of the investigation would take over soon anyway, and she wouldn’t have to worry about fear).

“I’ll be fine, trust me.” She hugged them both, before whispering into Maura’s ear, “ _Call Killian_.”

Maura nodded in return, then walked off with Ruby and Emma watched them disappear into the coffee shop before she sighed and headed back, back to Peter and his gangly accomplice, back to being kidnapped in her own personal retelling of every mobster story she’d ever studied.

She knew this was the right thing to do though, as they guided her out the back entrance and down the street, towards an alleyway that led to Peter’s car. Every ounce of training convinced her that leaving with the enemy without a fight was probably the safest route to go, the one that would keep her alive the longest. David would be proud to know that she played by the rules, that her GPS tracker alone could help her get out of this safe and sound because he would know exactly where to find her once he realized she was missing.

Only problem was Emma never quite liked the rules. She knew them, for sure, but she also knew where to break them, and she was going to start by breaking this punk’s nose.

She lifted her right arm up, breaking Peter’s nose with the back of her hand as her left elbow jutted back and made contact with his accomplice's groin. Peter stumbled away from her as his partner fell to the ground, grasping his crotch in pain. 

“You little bitch,” Peter cursed, his nose bloodied as he tried to smear some of it away. He marched towards her, not anticipating the right hook she threw at his chin before she grabbed onto his hair, knocking his forehead into his car door. She turned him over, her arms reaching out to grasp onto his shoulders so her knee could come up to jab him in the lower abdomen. He groaned as he tried to stand upright, and as both men were seemingly out of commission, Emma bolted down the alleyway and took a right turn, pushing through a crowd of people as she made her way to the nearest corner.

The world became a thick blur of lights and people and all she could think was how fast her feet were moving against the pavement, trying to keep her path clear throughout the busy Boston night. She turned her head, seeing them both point towards her and head her way, and she picked up her pace, making a hasty run for the other side of the street, avoiding several collisions with moving vehicles in her wake. She hoped the maneuver meant they lost her in their line of sight as a bus went past, giving her the opportunity to gain some ground on the two as the traffic at the street corner held them up.

She was practically sprinting as she pumped her arms to give herself more speed, making another left down a different street when she ran smack dab into a solid figure, the person grabbing onto her wrists in an attempt to still her. She struggled as she tried to hit the other person’s chest with her fists because _damn it_ if she was going to let this kid win. She wasn’t going to get kidnapped, she was going to _survive_.

She could hear the figure state her name, her _real_ name over and over and _over_ again until it clicked.

“Emma! Bloody hell, are you okay?” Killian shook her a little to get her to focus.

It was Killian. He was here. He came for her, regardless of their fight last night (a part of her knew that he would though, that he would always come for her, and the thought alone made her calm fractionally).

“I’m... I’m fine,” she managed to say, still fearful that Peter and his partner would jump out at any minute. “What are you doing here?”

“My aunt called. She said you ran into some trouble at the bridal shop,” he rattled off, taking her hand in his, soothingly stroking his thumb across the back of it. “Where the hell are you running to?”

“Well, I’m escaping,” Emma breathlessly scoffed, eyes still darting around her.

Killian hummed. “More like depriving me of a dashing rescue, _Swan_.” He flashed her a toothy grin, the sound of her nickname rolling off his lips, making her feel safer in an instant.

“Only one who saves me is me, Jones,” she jested, squeezing his hand in hers.

“You never cease to amaze me. Although, I don’t quite appreciate you putting yourself in harm’s way.” He kept looking at her, all doe-eyed and concerned, until he broke away from her abruptly. She looked over her shoulder, noticing Peter and his accomplice heading straight for them.

“I’m a federal agent, dumbass,” she retorted, the quip harsh on her tongue as she tugged on Killian’s hand. “Now are we going to stand here and argue or are we going to run from those two?”

Killian sighed before his lips broke out into a warm, excited smile. “Lead the way, milady.”

She pulled Killian along with her, quick to dart between the people lining the streets. They got three or four street corners ahead of Peter, where Killian suggested they make a swift right towards an abandoned alleyway.

“It’s a shortcut, Swan,” he stated as he guided her towards it. “Just trust me.”

She nodded and followed him, the alley leading into what appeared to be an abandoned baseball field. They darted across it, making their way towards an old shipyard in the distance, sneaking through a gate to enter.

She looked out at the Boston Harbor, seeing the lights from the adjacent airport shimmering in the night. There was no way out of here besides the way they came in, and suddenly, Emma felt a little uneasy with their new hiding place, seeing the water as their only means of escape should Peter follow them in here.

“Shit, do you think we lost them?” Emma finally whispered when they’d both caught their breath and found a reasonable spot to bunker down for the evening (unless the GPS on her phone really did track her, like David always promised it would).

“Perhaps,” he murmured, looking out from behind the large tower of shipping containers keeping them hidden. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

He turned back, noticing the slight chatter of her teeth, the breeze from the harbor picking up. “Are you cold, love?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” she mumbled, waving him off.

“Okay,” he whispered, hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Swan, I’m so—” He stilled when they both heard Peter’s familiar voice shouting off in the distance, and he looked out from behind the container to see if he could get a visual on the man.

But they could only hear his presence, as there was a rattle on the gates followed by both men’s feet approaching, boots hard against the concrete of the lot.

“I know you’re both in here!” Peter roared, as he grew closer to them. “Just give yourselves up.”

Emma felt Killian’s breath hitch as Emma let out a short sigh of frustration, because they’d outrun them, but they hadn’t _escaped_ them, and there was no way out but the water (and jumping into the Boston Harbor was the last thing she wanted to do right about now).

Killian laced his hand in hers and yanked hard. She looked up at him, confusion written on her face, but there was no time for an explanation as she heard the footsteps echo from the opposite side of the container.

Killian smirked before he squeezed her hand and whispered, “Run.”

They sprinted down the long, dark aisle, his hand tight and firm around hers. She heard the loud crash of something behind them and felt the bright white of a flashlight beaming against their backs, the excitement of it all causing her to grin with delight (this was what she craved as an agent, and a part of her was glad to experience it again).

“Felix, goddamnit! Go! Get them!” Peter barked.

Killian zigged and zagged them through the rows of containers, never remaining in one direction for too long (trying to make his way to the water, she assumed).

It was then, as the gravity of the situation unfolded, that she heard a few gunshots ricochet off the containers, and she realized she shouldn’t have told his aunt to call him, shouldn’t have let him come fetch her or accompany her (no matter how badly she knew she needed him) because now she’d gone and put Killian in harm’s way, just like she’d done with her partner (because her partner felt this intense need to protect her all the time, even if he’d done it ass-backwards) but she let the thought drift away as they found themselves close to the water’s edge.

Killian hauled them past a slightly wider container, hoping the size would hide them well considering it was at the furthest end of the lot when they were met with Peter, sneering as he finally caught up with them, his little game of cat and mouse finally rewarding him with their capture.

“You two think you’re smarter than me, don’t you?” Peter snarled as he lifted a pistol in front of him, aiming the barrel at Emma’s head. “I’d suggest you say goodbye to you dear fiancé, Miss Sharp. I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d kill you if you ran.”

“No, you can’t do _this_ ,” Killian begged, shielding Emma behind him, blocking Peter’s shot with his body. Killian reached into his jacket and produced a handgun of his own, directing it at Peter. “Your issue is with me, mate. Not her.”

“ _Killian_ , no,” Emma argued, and she could feel the tears pricking at her eyes, her body going into panic mode because she couldn’t go through this again, she couldn’t lose another partner, and here he was, this stupidly noble idiot of a man, standing smack dab in between her and a bullet with her name on it.

“I can’t let you die, love,” he whispered, gaze trained on Peter as they stared each other down behind the barrel of their guns. “I can’t let you die and let it be because of me.”

Killian’s words reminded her of her partner, and even though he and her late partner were two completely different men with two very different outlooks on life, they both had one thing in common: she would be the demise of them both.

“Killian, _no_ ,” she pleaded, pushing him out of the way, shoving him to the side to try and reason with him. “Killian, _please_. I can’t l—”

And then there was a sound that stopped her, a cracking noise that was so godawful and deafening and downright rotten that Emma couldn’t help but scream, as loud and as strong as she could, as if her life depended on it.

She felt herself slipping, the rush of air leaving her lungs in a strong whoosh as she made contact with the concrete beneath her, her body collapsing with a loud, crushing snap that ricochetted off the shipping containers amidst Killian’s roar of _bloody hell, no_ and then it all went black.

Everything just went _black_.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being patient! I know it’s been a while, so I hope this lives up to your expectations. Special thanks to Sav for beta-ing. (Psst… there’s angsty smut in here).

Killian felt Emma’s back make contact with the concrete beneath them as he tackled her to the ground, the gunshot ringing through the night as the blood surged in his ears and all thoughts besides her safety escaped his mind as he prayed and cursed and _hoped_ it hadn’t hit her, hadn’t _hurt_ her.

“Emma!” he shouted, the downright fear and anxiety and sudden terror consuming him as she laid there, limp and lifeless and... _breathing_ , gods above, still _breathing_. “Emma! _Emma_ , love. Come back to me!”

He could sense Peter moving towards them, stray bullets grazing the air around them, ricocheting off the metal containers, his shrill demands echoing over and over as he swaggered towards Killian.

Killian leaned up, shot two rounds in front of him, hearing a sharp cry of agony as the bullet made obvious contact with flesh until Killian collapsed back down, cradling Emma’s head in his lap, rocking her in an effort to get her to wake up, to just bloody _wake up_.

(At least she wasn’t bleeding, not that he could see at least. Common sense instructed him to check himself, but he cared more about her in that moment. He could die, worthless mobster that he was, but Emma? No, _she_ couldn’t.)

“It’s over, Killian,” Peter spoke as he hovered over him, the other man’s pistol pointed towards his skull. “Where is my damn uncle?”

Killian shuddered as the barrel pushed against the flesh of his forehead. This was the moment he’d lose her, or she’d lose him, or they’d lose _each other_. This was what he was so bloody scared of, why he didn’t need these feelings for her, didn’t want them reciprocated or to even _exist_ because in the end, it wouldn’t work, it couldn’t work. The nature of their lives meant a happy ending wasn’t a possibility.

Peter smirked, an evil glint in his eyes, and Killian braced for the end.

(He was ready, more ready than he should have been, even though his heart scolded him for selfishly giving up, beating out _Em-ma, Em-ma_ like a curse and a plea all at once.)

Then the sirens came, louder and clearer, shrieking and wailing as they grew closer and Peter jerked Killian’s elbow violently as he forced him up and headed out of the shipyard. Killian didn’t struggle as he was led down a long corridor towards the water, more worried about whether Emma would survive this as her limp body grew smaller and smaller in the distance until it was too dark for him to see her at all.

She would survive, bloody stubborn, strong lass that she was. She had to because he _needed_ her (he wondered if she felt the same, if he’d ever get to ask her if she did, if the darkness would pull her under and take her far away from here).

And then he felt something hard hit the back of his head before everything faded into a blur, and the darkness consumed him as well.

* * *

Killian could feel the cold nip of the night air, could hear the ocean faintly lapping up against the shore, soothing him in a way he remembered fondly from his childhood as he came to. The shipyard, he assumed, must have been somewhere off in the distance as he registered his surroundings, his hands tied behind his back, the rope creating a nasty burn on his wrists as he quietly struggled to break free. His head hurt like a bloody barge had run into it, and he vaguely recalled Peter whacking him over the head with his pistol. His back wasn’t any better, and he realized he was lying somewhere hard, the floor cold beneath him.

A plane flew by, a loud rumble that shook the pebbles on the ground next to him. He could hear Peter to his right, murmuring something about _Felix got shot in the arm_ and _I don’t know about the fucking girl_ and _I left him there_ on the cell phone pressed to his ear.

Another plane rumbled overhead then, and his mind took notice of the cannons pointing out towards the water, the small squares in the brick wall that looked out over the shoreline. They were on Castle Island, he judged, far enough from the shipyard to be out of sight, but close enough that Peter could still keep an eye on the situation at hand.

Peter mumbled something, heading out as Killian remained on the floor, feigning unconsciousness. He waited until Peter’s voice grew to that of a whisper to maneuver his way towards an empty glass bottle on a nearby table. It was amber colored, an obvious prop from some display of American patriotism at the historic site, and he knocked it over with a soft thud of his boot, letting it fall to the ground with a shatter before he sat up and bounced his way over to grasp a broken shard in his hand. He manipulated it just so between his wrists, careful not to nick his skin as he cut through the rope binding him with practiced ease, sitting up quickly and dusting himself off as he headed in the direction Peter had went.

The last time he was here he was at the fort, he recalled, he was naught but a teenager (he was with Liam and his Aunt Maura, his uncle preoccupied as he wandered off with some tall man who Killian later recognized as one of his uncle’s henchmen), yet the place held an unnerving quality at this late hour, the shadows formed by the moon causing a eerie shudder to run down his spine.

Killian cautiously headed down a long tunnel and up a flight of stairs, plagued with memories as if it were only yesterday ( _Look at the view of the sea from up here, brother!_ ), the actors posing for the historical reenactment, quizzing the young Irish boys about Fort Independence’s storied history ( _Gods, imagine how it looks from the water. Killian, just imagine!_ ).

He shook his head, trying to push the thoughts away. They burned and ached in a way they shouldn’t anymore. It had been so long, it had been _five years_ , and they should have dimmed somewhat. But the vivid image of his brother, tall and noble, blonde hair and blue eyes shimmering in the sunlight as they wandered the well-kept field outside still haunted him.

He heard a rustling, a soft shout of a whisper in the distance as he wandered through the propped steel doors and down the tunnel into the center of the brick structure. There were cast iron fire sticks propped up against one of the archways that looked into the grassy middle of the fort, and he grabbed one as he hesitantly made his way inside.

He surveyed his surroundings, keeping himself alert in case Peter decided to surprise him before he heard a loud curse, then something crashing to the ground as a shadow darted across the field and towards him. A gunshot rang out and Killian found cover behind the stone archway, blocking his figure from Peter’s view.

“Give it up, Killian!” he heard, Peter’s voice growing closer.

Killian rushed out into the field, groaning when Peter lunged out of nowhere in an attempt to battle but Killian grabbed on to him, bracing himself against his opponent.

“Couldn’t just stay tied up, huh?” Peter snarled, an evil smirk on his lips as he kicked Killian’s stomach, making him stumble backwards.

“And miss an opportunity to kick your goddamn ass?” Killian sneered through gritted teeth as he moved forward. “Not a chance, mate.”

Peter chuckled. “You’re a fool. You and that whore of yours.”

Killian growled as he regained his footing, still a little dizzy from his previous knock out.

“She’s not a whore,” he shouted, leaping forward, lifting his hand up and smacking the fire stick over the back of Peter’s skull, grinning through his wheezing breaths as his enemy collapsed to the ground. “She’s my fiancée.”

* * *

Peter wasn’t the adversary he used to be as he blearily blinked his eyes against the moonlight streaming in. Killian remembered a young lad who always challenged him and his uncle, constantly flirting (and failing) with his cousin as he tried to live up to the mobster reputation his uncle had created for him.

But now, as he sat tied to a chair in some dungy catacomb of the fort, Killian couldn’t help but feel sorry and embarrassed for the man. For someone who was blessed with the Boyle family name, he sure wasn’t living up to it, considering he’d tried to attack two members of the Teach family and got his accomplice shot and himself bound.

Peter groaned as his eyes fluttered open, met with the image of Killian sitting across from him, legs crossed, Peter’s pistol grasped casually in his right hand.

“What do you want, Killian?” Peter grunted as he fought against the ties binding him, the same ropes he’d used on Killian earlier.

Killian chuckled, dark and menacing, and he finally felt like he had some upper hand (a deep part of him knew this was a bad idea, that this wasn’t the investigating Emma intended for him to do, but Peter had hurt her, and he was going to _pay_ ). “We seem to ask each other that question an awful lot these days.”

“And I always answer,” Peter reminded him, gaze darting between Killian and the possible exits.

“Fine, I’ll be kind,” Killian drawled as he got up to circle Peter, clicking his tongue in his cheek. “You hurt my _fiancée_.” The word sounded heavy on his tongue, but it held the meaning it intended. Even if it wasn’t real, she meant more to him than this sorry bastard would ever understand.

“That whore ran,” Peter scoffed. “She knew her fate.”

Killian growled as he took the pistol he’d swiped from him and whipped it across Peter’s face, leaving a nasty red mark on his cheek.

“Don’t you dare call her a bloody _whore_ again, you cocksucking son of a bitch!” he scowled, holding Peter’s head back by his hair. “If she doesn’t survive, I can guarantee you’ll pay with your life.”

Peter scoffed. “You don’t have the balls.”

Killian’s eyes widened as he backed away before offering another blow to Peter’s cheek with his left fist. “You think I’m bluffing?”

Peter’s head hung low as he spit the blood out from his mouth. “I think you haven’t killed anybody in years. You’re nothing but a _coward_.”

He hummed before he proceeded to point the gun towards Peter’s head. “I’ll kill you right here, right _now_.”

“Doesn’t get you what you want.” Peter grinned like the damn Cheshire cat, and Killian felt his stomach churn. “Or your uncle. And I can do that for you. I can get you guys what you want.”

“And what could you possibly do for us?” Killian questioned, eyebrow raised in mock interest, lowering the gun from Peter’s skull.

“I can find you someone.” Peter looked him square in the eyes, pleased with Killian’s apparent defeat. “I can get you Maggie.”

“Oh, but I want nothing to do with Maggie,” Killian reassured him, repointing the gun at Peter’s shoulder, grinning as he studied the man before he pulled the trigger, the loud, crackling noise echoing against the brick walls as Peter shrieked in pain.

“Next time you lay a hand on her, I won’t hesitate to kill you, you bloody piece of shit,” Killian reminded him before he ran out into the night.

* * *

There was blinding sun in her eyes and an ache in her head and the room was an offending white, clerical white almost. It smelled of soap and rubbing alcohol and she felt the need to throw up bubbling in the back of her throat. There was a tall black haired lady next to her, jotting things down on a clipboard, mumbling numbers to herself as she glanced from a machine back to her and then back to the machine.

Emma gagged slightly, which caused the lady to grab a bucket and hold it out for her to vomit into. Her body felt itchy and clammy, the starchy rub of cotton chafing against her frame, a slight pang of discomfort in her wrist where a needle was sticking out from her skin.

“Ms. Sharp?” the lady asked, and when Emma didn’t immediately respond (who the hell is _Sharp_?), she hummed to herself in frustration. “Ms. Sharp, how are you feeling?”

She didn’t answer, just stared blankly at the woman’s face, trying to make sense of where she was, who she was and why she was here. The room was small, and the view outside overlooked other brick buildings as the overwhelming sound of car horns rose up from the street.

She attempted to get up but the pain in her head throbbed and she quickly laid herself back down, shutting her eyes and drifting towards sleep.

* * *

She woke with a start, some sort of vision making her jump out of bed. A car in the harbor, a body laid on the concrete of a shipyard, a white sheet splayed over it as she collapsed to the ground, a blonde haired man holding her, rocking her as she sobbed and cried out, some name that sounded vaguely familiar tumbling from her lips between cries and gasps.

Her body trembled as the images ( _memories_ , perhaps?) flooded her mind and kept her awake until sleep pulled her under and the dream started all over again.

* * *

It must have been the next day, because the black haired lady was wearing something new and a short, stout man accompanied her. They all wore the same white coats as they came in to gawk at her, prod her with needles and ask her how she was feeling.

Basically, they all checked on her as if she were dying.

(She kind of felt like she _was_.)

She’d never felt this lonely, this _abandoned_ since her days as an orphan (those memories came back in flashes, reminding her that nobody would be here to take her home), but everything else seemed hazy.

There were always two men consuming her thoughts and dreams, one dead and one alive, but she couldn’t see them clearly. There was a face she wished to see though, a foggy image in her mind that she saw only when sleep began to call for her. If only she could remember who he was...

* * *

The dream came back, but this time it was more vivid and detailed and  _different_ .

There was still a cold shipyard, a body lying on the concrete, but there was a loud cackling in the distance as a body was carried away from her by an evil shadow. The name she called out was strange, a hard K sound that felt dry on her tongue and her heart felt empty at the fragile timbre of her voice as she screamed it.

The man who rocked her as she sobbed kept speaking that name, promising her that he was safe, that he would be fine if she would just have faith. He promised her that he wouldn’t go back to his old ways, that he would be good for her, that he might even _love_ her. He promised that he would come home, because she was his home, and that nothing would change that because she had changed him.

And then she looked up, saw a different face (an _unfamiliar_ face) with blonde hair and blue eyes but it felt like she knew him on some level, like she’d seen his face in a photograph, clutching a dark haired man to his side, proud smile on his lips.

He was donning the same expression as her blurred recollection, and despite their bleak surroundings, he kept them encased in a bright, white light.

And then he was gone in a flash, leaving her alone and cold. So _cold_.

* * *

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed between the dream and now (it felt like an eternity, but it was in fact only a few days), but it was as if she was startled from a nightmare with a sudden clarity that reminded her of who she was, why she was here, who she needed to  _find_ .

Her surroundings made sense too: a hospital room, somewhere in Boston, judging by the Red Sox game blaring on her television. A male sat in the chair in the corner, cheering when the batter rounded home, and she cleared her throat, causing him to panic and stand up with a jolt.

He quickly shut off the television and rushed towards her. “Ah, Ms. _Sharp_ ,” he taunted. “I’m Detective Walsh. I don’t believe we’ve met, but I’m the detective in charge of finding out who did this to you.”

He grinned and she couldn’t help but chuckle at his obvious act. “Hello, _Walsh_ ,” she whispered, in case someone could hear them.

“I’m here to take you home,” he explained, gathering his tweed jacket from the chair. “If you’re ready.”

She smiled, the ache in her head and the confusion in her mind diminishing as she sat up, slowly pushing herself off the bed. “Let me just get dressed, and then you can do the honors.”

He nodded before leaving the room, and Emma wandered about slowly, testing her body’s response after having been out of commission for so long. She pulled the curtain closed, changing into the clothes Walsh had left for her on the chair: a flowing skirt with a white tank and a pair of tan sandals.

She smiled as she shrugged them onto her frame, finally feeling comfortable and normal before pulling back the curtain and making her way towards the door, tucking her hair behind her ears.

It was then that she noticed the clipboard by the exit, the one that black haired lady kept adding things to throughout her time here. There were vitals and notes jotted down next to them, and she plucked the clipboard from the wall, attempting to study them quickly should Walsh come back in to check up on her.

Her eyes scanned the papers, flipping through them until her eyes fell onto a small scribble printed in the far right corner of the last page: _Patient usually calls out for someone named Neal while asleep. Last night, the on-call nurse noticed her shouting Killian instead. Records indicate he is the patient’s fiancé._

Oh god, where was _Killian_?

* * *

A week, Walsh had told her. She’d been out for a week. Normally, she wouldn’t complain. It was a week off from work, from this case that was surely going to kill her (it almost _had_ ), but it was a week holed up in a hospital because she had suffered a rather severe concussion when her head made contact with the concrete. It was a week confused and disoriented and beyond uncomfortable. It was a week where sleep and vicious nightmares seemed to plague her mind, and she was mildly annoyed that both Walsh and David had let her stay admitted for so long.

(She vaguely remembered hitting the ground, a loud crack against her skull and a burning ache in her head, Killian’s voice crying out to her as she drifted off into the blackness.)

Walsh had brought her home after sunset, keeping her at the station to fill out mind-numbing paperwork concerning the shipyard debacle and he was unusually quiet throughout the ride, driving them in an unmarked police vehicle through the streets of Boston.

The lights were on in the house as they pulled up in front, and she almost hoped to see Killian opening the door, smiling as he greeted her, taking her into his arms and soothing the pain away. But as Walsh led her out of the car and up the steps, she could sense from his solemn expression that there was something he wasn’t telling her.

“Okay, spill,” she insisted, turning to face him before he could even make it halfway up the steps.

He startled, running a hand through the mop of hair atop his head (he always did that when he was nervous, and she remembered the way he did it the night she told him they were a one time thing that got out of control, remembered the same broken look in his eyes as she packed up her few belongings and left with a swift goodbye).

And then he sighed, “Killian went missing.”

Her eyes grew wide with shock, and she turned quickly, rushing into the house to see David sitting at the kitchen island as if he’d been waiting for her. He looked up, sullen frown on his lips, and he didn’t even have to speak for her to know Walsh’s words were true.

“Where is he?” she demanded, darting her gaze between the two men.

David exhaled. “We don’t know.”

Emma marched towards him with an intensity she didn’t need this early in her recovery. “What do you mean you don’t _know_?”

“I mean just that, Emma,” David said as he stood up, reaching for her shoulders. “He disappeared. He wasn’t even there when Walsh and I got to the scene.”

Emma trembled, holding back a sob that felt like it was lodged somewhere in her throat. “Well, we have to find him. W-we have to...”

“We have every available uniform looking for him, but it’s been a week,” Walsh offered, leaning precariously against the doorframe. “Besides, you can’t work yourself up over this, Em. You just got out of the hospital.”

Emma bit her lip in contemplation, trying not to think of what Peter could have done to him, could _still_ be doing to him, and her mind ran wild with a million different possibilities. Killian could be hurt, or dying or _dead_ , without her, and she was standing here doing absolutely nothing to find him when he came running for her after a petty fight that was mostly her fault anyway.

“Did you check the pub? The docks? Dartmouth?”

“Yeah, Emma, we did,” Walsh answered, trying to stay calm, but she could sense he was annoyed by the sudden turn of events, making her wonder if this was about more than just his disappearance.

If her feelings weren’t so involved, she wouldn’t be as worried, but she cared about Killian more than she’d like to admit, needed him to be alright and safe, needed him to be standing here in front of her...

“There’s something else,” David interrupted her thoughts, startling her from her panic, and that all too familiar feeling of dread took over her.

This felt like her old partner’s demise, the way David’s voice mimicked his own on that fateful night, when he had held her as she fell to the ground, watching alongside her as the paramedics pulled the sheet over her partner’s dead body on the pavement, wet and soggy from the harbor as his soaked car was lifted up fully from the water.

Perhaps she was still in the hospital sleeping, and a nurse was about to wake her to check her vitals. She started pinching her arm in hopes that she was dreaming, that she would wake up and Killian would be sitting in the corner in lieu of Walsh, taunting her as he prepared to take her home, to _their_ home, no matter how fake it truly was.

“No, don’t tell me,” Emma spoke, a frightened tremble in her tone. She glanced at David, and then at Walsh, and they both looked wrecked, as if the news they were withholding from her was enough to break her to pieces. “Killian’s _dead_ , isn’t he?”

“Peter’s accomplice was found shot at the shipyard but they found another victim,” David began, and Emma kept shaking, kept chanting _no no no_ as he continued. “On Castle Island in the fort. Somebody broke in and...”

“It was Peter,” Walsh explained for her, and Emma’s face softened, a relief washing over her (there was a body, and someone had _almost_ died, but it wasn’t Killian, thank god it wasn’t _Killian_ ).

“Bullet wound to the shoulder. He lost a lot of blood but paramedics were able to save him,” David explained. “We found him tied to a chair, unconscious. We were lucky he survived at all.”

“Emma, it seemed like an interrogation right out of the Teach handbook,” Walsh further clarified. “I mean, the damn knot on Peter’s wrists was a sailing knot, and that’s classic Edward Teach. Only one other person has been known to do that, and that’s your Killian.”

“Wait, no. Killian wouldn’t... he couldn’t... he can’t be,” Emma stammered, backing away from both of them. “You’re both wrong. He wouldn’t have. He knows better than that. Maybe it was Teach!”

“Teach has an alibi for that night,” David told her.

Emma clutched at the counter behind her. “There must be another explanation. That Peter tried to hurt me. Killian was only—”

“Emma, you have to face the facts,” David rationalized. “Killian attempted to murder two people. And while we knew he behaved this way, it was our hope that he wouldn’t.”

“We never should have brought him on this case,” Walsh added, stepping forward. “He’s a liability now. He’s a risk we can’t afford.”

“No, you’re... you’re...” And then she heard the front door open, closing with a click as Killian walked hesitantly into the kitchen.

“ _Killian_ ,” she sighed, startled and relieved and confused.  He looked like absolute shit, dark circles under his eyes, frail frown on his lips, his shoulders sagging as he made his way into the room.

She rushed towards him, taking him in her arms, letting him hold her tightly as if she was the only thing holding him afloat. She could feel the shudder that raced down his spine, and when she pulled back to search into his blue depths for the truth, to find the mistake laced within these accusations David and Walsh had thrown at him, she found nothing but a gaze as wrecked as the two men who gave her the news.

Once again, _he_ wasn’t the man he said he was, wasn’t the man he promised he would be (except he’d committed the evil acts in her honor, and part of her wasn’t sure what to do with that).

“Can Killian and I have a moment alone?” she asked, and Killian sighed in defeat.

Walsh shuffled towards the door as David reached for his keys on the counter. David sighed as he rounded the island, leaning in to Killian to issue a, “Good luck, _mate_ ,” before he and Walsh headed out the door.

Killian smiled weakly as the door clicked shut, silence descending upon. She stared at Killian, studying the lines on his face, the scar on his cheek (how had she not noticed that until _now_?), the bushy stubble of his jaw that he clearly hadn’t shaved in a while. Somewhere, deep down inside, he was still that man, the mobster with the despicable past, the one she should have feared from the start because he was Edward Teach’s nephew, the Blackbeard of Boston’s only remaining flesh and blood.

He sighed as he looked down at his feet, shuffling them as he waited for her to speak.

“What the hell were you thinking?” she demanded in a hushed whisper.

He shrugged. “I was angry.”

“Angry? You almost kill two men because you were _angry_?” Her voice raised unintentionally, her hands balling into fists at her sides.

“Felix, the accomplice bloke, that was in self-defense,” he explained, hands raised in front of him in supplication.

“So what about Peter, hmm? You just do that for fun?”

“He hurt you.” He exhaled, shutting his eyes. “I was sending a message.”

Her eyes widened, and she scoffed at his reasoning. “So that constitutes your actions?”

“No, love, it does not.” He moved towards her, but she backed away, practically disgusted by him. “But he needed to learn a lesson. Nobody messes with Killian Jones.”

“You sound like your uncle,” she lashed out, the anger quick to surface because he was reverting back to his old ways. She thought what was blossoming between them could have been real, but she was so very _wrong_. “You know, honestly I thought you’d changed,” she laced into him, irritated and upset. “I thought you were _good_. But clearly I was wrong.”

“Clearly, you were,” he mumbled, overcome with self-loathing.

“Were you acting the whole time? Pretending to be good for _my_ benefit?” she asked, not giving him a chance to respond. “Did you think acting all nice and suave would get you in my pants or something? Did you think I was some conquest? Did you ever actually _want_ to help or was this just some way for you to get out of jail?”

“ _Emma_ , stop,” he pleaded but she threw her hands up in frustration.

“Honestly, Walsh was right. I should have never brought you on this case,” she huffed out regretfully, trying to create some distance between them. “You’re a risk and a liability and I should just send your ass back to prison where you belong. You are a criminal and I should have known better.”

Killian lips parted at her words before he swallowed hard, averting his gaze from hers. She knew they hurt, she knew how much it pained him to see her think of him as the evil villain (but he was, or he is, she can’t really tell anymore).

“Back into the loving arms of Detective Monkey Brains, are we?” He scoffed as his brow furrowed in frustration.

“Why? Are you jealous?” Emma scoffed right back. “Did you think I had feelings for you? I mean, how could I have feelings for a man who can’t tell right from wrong? How can I possibly fall for someone who thinks violence is an actual answer to his problems?”

“I did it for _you_ , Emma!” he shouted, marching in her direction. She made her way around the kitchen island, trying to keep it between them. “I did all of that to protect you because I love you!”

“The last time somebody ran out to protect me because they loved me, they _died_ ,” she reminded him, crossing her arms over her chest. “The last time somebody _loved_ me, they abandoned me because they thought it was what was best for me.”

He braced himself against the countertop between them. “I would have gladly died for you, if it meant you were safe.”

“I never asked you to do that!” she yelled. “I never asked you to fall in love with me. I never asked you to be some knight in shining armor.”

“And I never asked to be on this bloody case!” Killian pounded down on the marble with his fist. “But you dragged me into all of this. I was fine on my own, away from Boston, away from the memories of my brother.”

“Well, I’m sorry, Killian,” she argued. “But that doesn’t make up f—”

“Liam died for me, I’ll have you know,” Killian interrupted, voice bellowing in the quiet of the house. “And he asked me to be a man of honor, to live on and make him proud and I could have done that away from this goddamn hellhole.”

“So what would your brother think if he could see you now, Killian? What would he say if he knew that you were reckless?” She was pushing him, she knew it, and she could sense the quip forming on his tongue.

“Oh, that’s real rich coming from you,” he sneered.

“Excuse me?” she shouted, eyes wide in surprise.

He growled, sauntering around the island towards her. “Would your fallen partner be proud of the vengeful operation you’ve been so hell-bent on running here? Would he like to know you’ve wasted three years of your life plotting my uncle’s demise in his name?”

She attempted to shove him away, but he was firm in his stance. “This isn’t about me!”

“Oh, so you can ask me about my brother but I can’t so much as mention your partner? Seems awfully hypocritical of you that we can talk about Liam and not...” he leered, his broad frame dominating her personal space. “Oh, I’m sorry, you haven’t given me the bloke’s name.”

“That’s because it’s none of your damn business,” she hissed as his strong arms imprisoned her against the island counter.

“Really, _Swan_?” he remarked, her surname rolling off his tongue, hurt and heated. “Let me remind you that we’re here because of _your_ revenge, not mine.”

“Well, I can’t have my lead _informant_ embroiled in some attempted murder investigation,” she scolded.

“Informant? Is that all I am now? Just some bloody _informant_?” His eyebrow was raised, challenging her use of terminology as he locked his gaze with hers. “Because you and I both know I’m much _much_ more than that.”

The air was charged between them as they stood there, staring one another down as his words lingered between them. She was breathing heavily, and she couldn’t tell if it was her recent recovery or the heat she could feel from him being this close (he smelled like spice and cigar smoke and maybe a little hint of rum, and it was an intoxicating cocktail assaulting her senses that she needed to resist with any ounce of strength she had left).

“You arrogant prick.”

“You stubborn bitch.”

She reached for the lapels of his leather jacket in a swift movement, pulling him down into a searing kiss, his body stiffening as her lips moved against his, pouring every ounce of goddamn frustration into the kiss until he started to respond, hands slinking around her waist as he pulled her into him, capturing the breathy sigh that escaped her lips.

He pushed her back into the kitchen island, picking her up and hoisting her on top of it, his lips picking up in their persistence, tugging and nipping, pulling and sucking until she was a whining, panting mess in his arms. She linked her hands behind his neck, using it as leverage to tilt his head to the side and deepen the kiss, grinning when he grunted, his arousal pressing hard and hot into her center as she wrapped her legs tight around his hips.

“You’re an idiot, Killian,” she mumbled against his lips, all rough and needy, a groan escaping her throat as he carded a hand through her hair.

He trailed his lips down her neck, pushing the strap of her tank aside and letting his lips linger there. “I know.”

“You could have gotten hu— _fuck_.” God, his lips felt _good_ as they sucked a bruise onto her collarbone, and it didn’t matter what he’d done, if he was good or evil, selfish or noble. She needed him, the fire burning under her skin and threatening to explode if she didn’t find some sort of release. “You could have been _killed_.”

Her hands pushed at his jacket, shoving the offending garment off his shoulders as she began to push his shirt up, grazing the taut abdomen hidden underneath, fingernails scratching at the layer of chest hair there.

“Gods, _Swan_ ,” he croaked out, hips stuttering against her, the bulge under his jeans hard against her thigh.

He backed away for a moment, gaze filled with lust as he pulled the shirt over his head before stepping back into her embrace, his lips finding her neck, sucking on her pulse point, a desperate cry tumbling from her lips.

He rutted into her center, her ankles pressing more firmly behind his hips, pulling him closer as his hand roughly pulled her tank up and off before unclasping her bra, exposing her breasts to him as he ducked down to devour each one with a carefulness she wasn’t accustomed to.

“Oh god _yes_ ,” she groaned as his tongue swirled around her nipple, his other hand trailing up her thigh, ghosting over where she needed him most.

Her hands wandered to his jeans, undoing the buckle and pushing them down along with his boxers as he pushed her skirt up, pushing the lace hugging her hips aside, swiping through her slickened heat, causing her to shudder in his arms. He easily slipped one finger in, smirking when she rolled her hips downwards, her body searching for friction against his palm.

“Does fighting with me turn you on, love?” he hummed smugly as he grasped onto her hip, keeping her in place as he slipped another finger in. “Does being with a criminal make you _wet_?”

He felt right and good and so so _perfect_ , her body falling back against the island counter, arching off the marble when his fingers curled, hitting the right spot and _oh god_ she was so close, she could feel it tingling under her skin. “Shut up, Jones.”

And then she was cold, all feelings of pleasure gone until the emptiness was replaced with him inside of her, filling her up to the hilt as she felt the gentle drag of him against her walls. He stood there for a moment taking shallow breaths as he let her adjust, rocking gently as he tried to keep his composure.

Her body was heaving, her hips rolling slightly, gasping when he scooped her up into his arms and walked her towards the refrigerator, bracing her against it, her body sinking down even further (and yet it still didn’t feel like enough).

(She was hit with a hazy image, him against the same surface, hand curling in her hair as she kneeled down, parted her lips and took him as far as she could go, grinning wickedly when he bucked into her mouth. She couldn’t tell if it was a fantasy or a vivid memory, but it had warmth pooling low in her belly along with downright want for _him_.)

He trembled as he held her close to him, chests pressing against one another, his eyes filled with something more than just simple lust. There was care, concern, awe, anxiety, a mutual understanding that whatever he’d done, as bad as it may have been, was all for her. Always for _her_.

“ _Move_ ,” she murmured, and he obeyed, driving his hips upwards in a hurried pace as she tugged him back for a kiss, all clacking teeth against the sound of slapping skin as she saw white-hot bursts of pleasure form behind her eyelids, the cold steel of the refrigerator a stark contrast to the fire burning between her thighs.

“ _Emma_ , I don’t know if I can hold back,” he groaned when she gasped as he angled his hips _just right_ , finding that spot that made her see stars. She was so so _close_ , she would be impressed by his abilities if she wasn’t a sobbing mess.

His lips trailed down her neck, tongue flicking over the bruise on her collarbone as he quickened his pace, brutal thrusts that had her gasping his name like a broken plea. She arched against the steely surface as he latched onto a nipple, taking it into his mouth, his tongue’s ministrations causing her to whimper, the need for _more more_ _more_ driving her on.

“Be a good girl and come for me,” he pleaded against her breast, one hand moving to where they were joined, thumbing maddening circles into her bundle of nerves.

She choked out a moan, hands tugging on his hair as she felt herself clench and throb, and he drove his hips into her, _harder_ and _faster_ , his arm bracing himself up against the appliance as she used her ankles to push him _further_ and _deeper_ until his hips began to stutter.

“ _Killian_ ,” she moaned, feeling his restraint as he impatiently waited for her to fall first.

His expression softened at the sound of his name, his hips faltering as he tried to hold back, grunting as he slammed into her, her back riding up the refrigerator as she clutched onto his shoulders for purchase.

She shuddered soon after, feeling bursts of pure pleasure rock through her body, her gasping breaths echoing throughout the kitchen against his murmurs of her name ( _Emma, bloody brilliant Emma_ ), his own release washing over him as he bit down on her shoulder, teeth digging into her skin as the after-effects of her orgasm continued to spark through her.

“That was...” he began, breathing heavily against her skin.

Her skirt was bunched up around her waist, his pants and boxers pooled around his ankles. He panted, still holding her up with the weight of his body as his forehead leaned against hers.

“Can we start over?” he murmured as he let her down gently, and she readjusted herself when her feet reached the floor. He backed away, pulling his pants back up around his hips, his eyes never leaving hers.

“I don’t know.” She wanted to sound less concerned, less apprehensive, but she couldn’t help it. Was he good? Evil? Somewhere in between?

(Fucking him in the middle of the freaking kitchen wasn’t going to help matters, because he felt amazing and it had never been like that with anyone else, not with Walsh or Neal and she knew she would never have enough of him after experiencing what he could offer. _Goddamnit._ )

“ _Emma_ ,” he pleaded, taking her hands in his as she tried to feel less vulnerable with half of her clothes off.

“Look, _this_ shouldn’t have happened,” she explained, gesturing between them.

“I beg your pardon?”

She walked around him, grabbing her bra from its place on the sink faucet, shrugging it over her exposed chest before searching the kitchen for her tank. “I’m sorry, Killian.”

Her voice sounded unsure, her legs shaky as she scratched the back of her neck, concerned that her shirt wouldn’t turn up until tomorrow (the last thing she needed was for David to find it during breakfast).

“But I care about you. I risked my life for you,” he quickly stated, stepping closer, hand reached out as if to take hers again before thinking better of it and shoving both of his hands in his pockets. “Emma, don’t you feel _anything_?”

She wanted to say _yes,_ wanted to scream it, but it felt too soon. She barely knew him anymore and the thought of beginning something this serious on a case that was supposed to bring justice for her fallen partner felt wrong. How could she just move on like that when his memory was still so present in her mind?

(Part of her knew she already _had_ , that she’d moved on with Killian a long time ago. Now she just had to accept it.)

“Even if I did...” she began, but he stopped her with a shake of his head and a clearing of his throat.

“Understood, Swan.” He offered her a self-deprecating grin, scratching behind his ear before heading for the stairs.

“Wait, _no_ , Killian. I didn’t mean—”

“Emma, I get it.” He sighed, a tired chuckle escaping him. “You deserve better than the likes of _me_.”

He glanced at her over his shoulder, his lips cracking into a weak smile before he left her, shirtless and confused.

Her head fell into her hands, a string of frustrated curses mumbled under her breath and _shit_ , what was she doing?


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! Between my new job and still getting settled in my new apartment, writing time has been scarce. Hopefully this is worth the wait!

Killian trudged down the stairs towards the kitchen, confused and frustrated with whatever had happened last night. She’d practically pounced him, and whether that was from her own anger or some underlying _feeling_ , he wasn’t entirely sure.

Emma Swan was a mystery, of that he was certain. He knew the agent, cool and collected, far too guarded for her own good with a slight edge of sophistication and cunning wit. And he wondered if the undercover persona, the bubbly, happy fiancée (who made stars burst behind his eyelids every time her lips brushed against his, a warm feeling of _home_ bubbling in his heart and threatening to spill over) was truly an act for his uncle and his associates.

Whoever she was last night, was something else entirely though, and he was determined to get answers for her behavior. She may have treated it as a foolish dalliance, but his mind (and his _heart_ , his stupid bloody heart) had other ideas.

He studied her as she sipped from her mug, legs crossed on the bench as she stared blankly at the patio before her. He fumbled with the shirt in his hand (her shirt from last night, ready for her charming colleague to find in the morning underneath the kitchen table, which was the last bloody thing either of them needed right now) before he tossed it towards her, childishly chuckling to himself when it landed over her mug. She swiftly turned her head to offer him a glare that could have killed him (or melted him, he was certain her icy demeanor turned him on) before she groaned in disgust and balled the shirt up in her lap.

“Should you really be drinking coffee in your state of well-being?” he taunted, leaning precariously against the doorframe leading out onto the patio adjacent to their kitchen.

It was a cooler morning than usual, the sun shining as she turned around, rays of light reflecting off her golden hair as she rolled her eyes at him. He smirked as he crossed his arms over his chest, challenging her before she could even make a comment.

“It’s not coffee,” Emma mumbled as she took a sip of her drink. “It’s hot cocoa, with cinnamon.”

He hummed at her answer as he pushed himself off the doorframe and sauntered towards the bench, making himself comfortable next to her. His knee brushed against hers accidentally and she practically flinched at the contact, almost springing up off the bench in response.

“Sorry, I’m just...” she muttered, a breathless laugh escaping her lips as she cradled the mug in her hands.

Killian stood up before she could continue. “No, I get it. I’ll just go back inside and—”

“Don’t,” she quickly stated, turning up to look at him with wide eyes. “Look, I should apologize for last ni—.”

“No, Swan, it is I who should—”

“Would you just shut up and let me talk?” she demanded as her brow furrowed, her tone rather overwhelmed.

He simply nodded and obeyed, sitting back down on the bench when she patted it with her hand (he was a fool if he thought he could deny her anything).

“I shouldn’t have hurt you like that last night,” she began to explain, glancing down at her hot cocoa, thumbing at the whipped cream that had curled at the edges of the mug. “I _do_ care about you. A lot.” Her voice trembled a little.

He sighed as he fought the urge to touch her, to hold her. “If you care so much, then why do you keep pulling away from me?”

“Because I’m scared,” she whispered, a shaky tremor in her voice as she continued to stare at her mug, as if the words were somewhere hidden beneath the layer of foam. “And last night, almost _losing_ you... I... I couldn’t take losing another partner.”

This time he scooted forward, gently placing a hand on her thigh, brushing soothing strokes with his thumb. “I meant what I said, love. I would have gladly died for you, if it meant you were safe.”

“But I’m not worth that,” she answered, feeling a shudder race across her skin.

He took her mug, placing it down on the table beside him before taking both of her hands in his. “Swan, you are worth all of that and more.”

She finally looked up at him and shook her head in disbelief over his words. “I don’t believe you.”

“Frankly, I don’t care if you do.” He smirked when she chuckled just a little, a small smile forming at the corners of her lips before she wriggled her hands free.

“I’m just not used to people sticking around,” she murmured, averting her gaze from his again. “Everybody leaves. Why should you be any different?”

He tucked his hand under her chin, forcing her to meet his stare. “Because none of them are _me_.” He smiled, thumb tracing the dent in her chin. “And because I love a challenge, especially one wrapped in a cunning, sophisticated agent such as yourself.”

“Now you’re getting cocky,” she jested, and his lips grew into a toothy grin, his tongue jutting out to graze the top of his teeth. He watched as her eyes traced the movement before she swallowed hard.

“Admit it, Swan,” he taunted, his voice a little rough. “You quite like that about me.”

She smiled softly before she moved in, her head tilting to the side, her eyelids fluttering closed, her lips searching for his and the words came out before he could even think about them.

“Go on a date with me,” he whispered.

Her eyes shot open. “What?” she croaked out.

He chuckled, his hand tracing down her shoulder before he slid it into hers. “A date, Swan. Do they not allow federal agents to date?”

She sighed as she leaned back. “No, they do. I just don’t date—”

“Informants?” he teased with a cock of his head, one eyebrow raised in question. “Is there some special rule for sleeping with them too?”

“Shut up,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes just a little but it only spurred him on.

“So, what’ll it be, my dear agent?” he asked with a smirk, his bottom lip rolling under his teeth.

“I... I don’t know,” she mumbled, her eyes transfixed on the action, a silent war going on in her mind.

“It doesn’t have to be anything fancy or serious,” he assured her, ducking his head to reclaim her glance. “We don’t even have to leave the house.”

“Yeah?” she asked, her eyes slightly wide in disbelief.

“If it means I get to spend time with you,” he spoke softly. “Then of bloody course.”

She let out a sigh. “Okay. One date.”

She tried to hide the blush creeping up on her cheeks, the smile that was quickly forming into a grin as she stood and headed inside the house. He didn’t have a chance in hell of hiding the one growing on his.

* * *

It was around seven when she made her way downstairs, dressed in a pair of jean shorts that landed mid-thigh, a tank top and a bulky maroon sweater hugging her small frame. It hung off her shoulder slightly, revealing a mess of freckles across her collarbone. Her hair was tucked behind her ears as she fumbled with something in her purse, grumbling when she couldn’t find it.

He thought he’d never seen anything more _beautiful_.

“You look stunning, Swan,” he murmured as she walked towards his outstretched hand, taking it and entwining it with hers.

She blushed, scoffing slightly at his comment. “This old thing?” She looked down at her sweater. “I just don’t want to be cold. It’s really nothing special.”

He leaned in, pulling her body closer to him so he could whisper into her ear. “Still stunning, darling.”

She blushed again, the deep red creeping down her half-exposed neck, and he couldn’t help the proud smirk that formed on his lips.

“Shall we?” he asked, cocking his head towards the door.

She nodded, letting him lead the way. “So what’s the plan for tonight, Killian?”

“It’s a surprise, Swan,” he hummed, guiding her towards the car. He opened the door for her, bowing as she entered and his heart swelled at the soft giggle that erupted from her lips at his gentlemanly actions.

With her, he was absolutely _doomed_.

* * *

It was a rather clear evening in Boston, the moon reflecting off the calm waters as Killian anchored the boat in the harbor, far enough out to see the skyline but close enough that they could still hear the busy hum of the city.

“So this Smee dude knew you as a kid?” Emma questioned curiously.

Truth was Smee had taken over for him years ago, when he’d left his brother’s marina business for a spot in his uncle’s coveted circle. Back then, when he was nineteen and so bloody naïve, joining the mob seemed like his best chance to uncover the truth, the _real_ truth. He was young and it was enticing, all that money and women and _power_. His uncle had promised him everything and he took it without thinking it through, without fully understanding the consequences his actions would have on his future.

His brother forgave him, because he was a man of honor and they were _blood_ , but that didn’t make up for how it ended, for how he lost him.

Tonight though, he didn’t want to think about the past, not when he could spend his time with Emma, away from the stress of the case, away from the reality of their lives.

“Aye, we went to high school together.” Killian explained anyway. “He was my best mate. Could get that bloke to do just about anything.”

“So how come you don’t talk to him anymore?” Emma studied him as the boat swayed in the harbor.

“People grow apart, love,” he mumbled, fidgeting mindlessly with the sails. “And I ran away for five years.”

Emma grumbled as she sat down. “You’re avoiding my question, Killian.”

He turned, noticing her raised eyebrow and coy smile. _Bloody hell_.

“Open book,” she muttered smugly before he resumed his work on the sails, readjusting them in an effort to ignore her curiosity.

He heard Emma's long sigh before she stepped closer, turning him around and running her hands down his arms, slowing as she moved past his elbows, taking his suddenly shaky hands into hers. She interlaced her fingers with his, squeezing his hands tightly.

“He knew your brother, didn’t he?” she whispered.

Killian froze, startled by her question. “How did you know?”

She pulled him closer, wrapping her arms around his waist and nuzzling into his chest. “The look in your eyes when he asked you how you’ve been,” she mumbled into his shirt.

Killian breathed deeply, inhaling the lavender scent in Emma’s hair. “My brother would have liked you, you know,” he said with a soft chuckle, kissing the crown of her head.

She leaned back, arms still linked behind him. “Yeah?”

Killian grinned, nodding. “He would have liked how stubborn you are when it comes to me. And how you seem to keep me in my place.” He brought a hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “He would have liked your determination, your _fire_.”

“It’s a shame I didn’t get to meet him then.” She released her hands, roaming them up his chest to link them behind his neck. They stayed there for a while, her forehead eventually drifting forward to lean against his. She was quiet, but he could sense something in the air besides sea salt, something she wasn’t _sharing_. “How did he die, Killian?”

He exhaled, long and slow. “It’s quite the story, love.”

“We’ve got time,” she added, reassuringly kissing the corner of his lips.

He guided them to the seat behind the wheel, sitting them down as he took both of her hands in his. He looked out at the sea, the one reminder of his brother’s life (the sea was where he seemed to lose everyone) and a quick shudder raced down his spine at the thought of losing _her_ to a similar fate. “My uncle is a devious man, as we’re both aware, love. He has secrets, ones that should never be unearthed.”

“What did you find out?” she murmured with a quiet composure.

“My parents passed away when I was a young lad. Plane crash over the English Channel.” He bit the inside of his cheek, fighting back the burning sensation forming at the corners of his eyes. “No investigation or funeral because their bodies were never found. We were basically orphans, Liam and I.”

“I’m so sorry, Killian,” she whispered, and he turned back to see the hope and care in her gaze, sensing the way her presence just calmed him in a way he’d never experienced before. It suddenly felt easier to continue through his painful walk down memory lane.

“As you know from my file, Liam and I were sent here to stay with the only family we had: Uncle Eddie and his wife.” He chuckled derisively. “And it was quite the culture shock. Imagine two Irish lads in a public school. We were bullied like you wouldn’t believe, but Liam was always my hero. He always looked out for me.”

She snuggled in closer, letting her head drop to his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head, leaning his chin against it. “I was always suspicious of the death of my parents. I never quite believed the story we were told, and when I was old enough, when I was involved enough with my uncle and his inner circle, I began my investigation and... and I...”

“It’s okay, Killian. You can tell me,” Emma whispered, squeezing his hand lightly to help him resume.

He swallowed hard, fighting back the ache in his heart. “Their pilot worked for my uncle." He paused for a moment, remembering the shock at his discovery, the anger he felt when he realized his parents were killed by their own family. He exhaled deeply before he continued. "He had his own bloody sister killed because he was angry with her for leaving, for running away to Ireland. She never truly escaped this life, I suppose, and it’s what eventually got her and my father murdered.”

His breathing grew unsteady, and he felt her hand squeeze his even tighter in response. “When my uncle found out what I knew, he had to retaliate.” The next words came out in a raspy croak as he tried to keep the ache in his heart at bay. “What better way than to kill my one weakness.”

She nudged her head up to look at him. “Liam.”

He nodded reverently. “He murdered him in Dartmouth. My uncle had him call me before he shot him in cold blood. It was awful, Emma. My brother... he just...” Killian trembled and Emma tugged him to her, letting his forehead fall to her shoulder. “He told me to make him proud, to change, to be _better_ ,” he mumbled against her collarbone. “And I’ve done nothing of the sort. Even you’ve made that clear, love.”

He choked back a sob, embarrassed by his lack of control, by his sudden vulnerability. She brought this out in him though. She made him feel safe and loved and at _home_ and he hadn’t realized when their dynamic had shifted to her taking care of him, supporting him in a way he’d always dreamed of doing for her.

“Hey, it’s alright,” she murmured, running her fingers through his hair, her fingernails lightly scraping his scalp in an effort to soothe him. “Your brother would be proud of you, _so_ proud of you. You’re helping a federal investigation. You’re helping me put your uncle away for good. You’ve made mistakes, but you’ve _changed_.”

Killian shook his head in protest, pulling away from her, getting up to wander towards the other side of the boat.

She was right. He wasn’t the same man as before, but he was still Teach’s nephew and it was too late for him to erase the despicable things he’d done in the name of family or rid himself of the anger in his heart when he thought of his brother’s last words before he went silent forever.

( _You are better than him, Killian, because you are a Jones and you are my brother. Promise me you will be a man of honor, that you will fight for good. Promise me, brother! Promise m--_ )

He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose before Emma’s touch found its way back to him. She grabbed his shoulder, whirling him around to face her.

“Listen to me,” she insisted, her hands winding their way into the hair at the nape of his neck. “You are _not_ the same person. You have _good_ in you. I can see it. I’ve always seen it. And this case, if we solve it, if we _win_ , we can honor those we’ve lost. We can do this for your parents, for Liam...”

“For your partner,” he interrupted, and she nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, for Neal too,” she murmured as he stood there, overwhelmed by this remarkable woman. How he’d found her, how he _deserved_ her in his life he would never understand.

(Part of him wondered if this was Liam’s way of making sure he kept his promise, and part of him thanked his brother for sending her his way, a silent prayer muttered in his mind.)

She brought her hand up to her mouth, biting her nails as she gazed out at the harbor. The wind had picked up slightly as they drifted through the waves. The ebb and flow of the sea calmed him, as it seemed to calm her, but he knew there was some thought troubling her, the sudden change in her strong, determined demeanor slightly off-putting.

She exhaled deeply. “I was pregnant,” she uttered, no louder than a whisper. His eyes grew wide as she let out a shaky laugh. “It was Neal’s.”

Killian stepped closer, hands outstretched for her. “ _Emma_...”

“Neal didn’t know,” she continued, avoiding his grasp. “I don’t think it would have changed what he did. He went out on his own. I mean, we never played by the rules, but we could always tell what the other was thinking and... I don’t know what happened that night. He went after Teach on his own. He just _left_.”

“Perhaps he knew you were with child and was trying to protect you from my uncle,” Killian suggested, knowing from experience the pull in his heart to save her, _guard_ her, defend her. That garnered a shake of her head.

“Or perhaps he was just being a freaking idiot,” Emma responded, the words sounding bitter on her tongue. “It was so unlike him to just _lie_ to me.”

“Sometimes, people do strange things for those they love,” he offered, his turn to take her hand, intertwining their fingers.

“Or stupid things,” she scoffed. “I mean, you’ve done nothing but stupid things since we met.”

Killian ignored the comment, disregarding her obvious jab at his actions. “What happened to the child, love?” he asked curiously.

The playful air had shifted, something tragic and awful humming at the tip of her tongue. He wanted to know, wanted to understand her walls, the ones he’d worked past in order to win her heart. Most of all, he wanted to understand what made her so much like _him_.

“I tried so hard to be strong. I really did but...” she mumbled, gaze avoiding Killian’s.

“Emma, you...” He pulled her closer. “You don’t have to tell me, love.”

“No, I should,” she stated with a slight tremble in her voice. “I need you to know you’re not alone, that you’re not as broken as you think.”

“Alright, love,” he reassured her. “I’m listening.”

She took a deep breath before continuing. “After Neal died, I... I lost the baby. Too much stress, I guess.” Emma forced a weak smile onto her lips and Killian felt his heart break at the sheer hollowness of it. “It was... It was probably better that way.”

He leaned down, cupping her cheeks in his hands, stroking them with his thumbs before gently covering her lips with his. He felt her relax in his hold, her lips moving with purpose as if all of their problems, all of their scars and tragedies could be healed with just one kiss. She tilted her head to the side, letting his tongue brush past her lips, her hands running up his chest and linking behind his neck as his arms came around her waist.

Her body molded to his, warm and inviting and _right_ as she backed them up to the nearest seat, the backs of his knees hitting it before she shoved him down, straddling his hips. Her hands found the nape of his neck, wrenching the hair there to guide his head to the side so she could slide her tongue in further, the boat rocking from the passionate force of her actions.

She gasped when his hips jerked up, his hand cupping her ass, rolling her against him. His lips pulled away from hers, trailing down her jawline, towards her neck, tongue jutting out to lick the space behind her ear.

“ _Killian_ ,” she mewled, her grip more insistent as she yanked his hair, holding him in place as he sucked a bruise onto her pulse point.

The boat swayed again as she shifted above him, moaning when his tongue traced patterns on her exposed shoulder, dipping past the top hem of her sweater. “Careful, Swan,” he murmured against the swell of her breast, groaning desperately when she rocked herself down hard. “You might tip us over.”

“Maybe I can’t help it,” she whispered, gasping when he thrust his hips up in response. Her forehead dropped to his, her mouth nipping his bottom lip. “Maybe I’m not scared anymore. Maybe I’m tired of pretending I don’t _want_ you.”

“Bloody hell,” he grumbled, his lips crashing back into hers, branding her as _his_ , bloody well _his_ as her hands roamed his shoulders, his chest, tugging the shirt out of his pants insistently.

He pulled her sweater down, not caring that they were in the harbor, in full view of anyone who could float by. He wanted her too, wanted _this_ since the first day he bloody met her, since the first time he’d kissed her. Gods above, he wanted _this_. He wanted _her_.

Her lips found his jaw as she worked the buttons on his shirt, tugging it open as his head fell back, groaning when her fingernails scraped against his chest, tracing the muscles of his abs, her core still rolling deliciously against his.

His skin felt like it was on fire, his head buzzing with lust when she cupped him through his pants.

“Shit,” she shrieked, his hands grabbing her ass harder in response. “Shit, my _phone_.”

The persistent noise had her jumping forward before her phone buzzed its way off the side of the boat. She caught it just in time, swiping the screen to say, “Hey David,” in a voice that was far more composed than either of them currently appeared.

He groaned in disgust as his head fell to rest in between her breasts (of course the charming agent would ruin their night) as she took in whatever he was saying, nodding along as her free hand traced the buttons on his shirt. He craned his head up despite her swift frown of disapproval, nipping at her neck, fingers dipping under her sweater, rubbing small circles into her stomach with his thumbs.

She purred softly, biting her lip to keep from moaning as he nipped and licked and sucked, his hand gripping her hip and guiding her leisurely against the ridge between his thighs until she was blushed all over, a panting, needy mess as she wrapped up her phone call (and gods above, was she beautiful all pink and breathless).

She said her goodbye, placing the phone into her back pocket before leaning down to softly press her lips to his.

“What did Dave want?” he mumbled against her lips.

“Walsh got a lead on Boyle’s whereabouts. The bureau got a hit on Maggie too. David looked into both and they seem legit.” She leaned back, a gleam in her eyes that he could only identify as _victory_.

“And where would Boyle be, love?”

She breathed deeply, studying his face as if she was going to hurt him, as if she knew she _would,_  and his heart clenched in anticipation of her answer.

“Dartmouth.”

* * *

Dartmouth, he said to himself as they drove back in silence to the house.

Bloody fucking _Dartmouth_.

It was one thing to relive his past in pictures and memories, but to relive it completely and in person was another thing entirely. That bloody beach was the end of it all, the night his life changed and he went from a naïve, young minion of his uncle's to the vengeful mobster Boston feared would one day return.

Emma was quieter than usual on their drive and while he knew Dartmouth would be difficult for him, he hadn't thought how solving this case, how putting away his uncle _for good_ would affect her.

Was she ready? Could she handle it? He was sure she could. She was Emma Swan, _his_ Swan. Strong, stubborn, assertive, a hell of a lass. But did she believe in herself enough to put this behind her when it was all finished?

They pulled up slowly, Killian turning the car off before staring off blankly down the dark street. _This_ was the beginning of the end for them, the end of everything they’d both worked so hard to achieve.

When this was all said and done, he wondered, would Emma send him back to jail? Would she ignore whatever was blossoming between them (his stubborn heart kept chanting _love_ like a bloody broken record) or would she feel differently when danger wasn’t present? He wondered if he would still be the same man, if he would still be callous and dangerous and a harm to himself and others, if he would still have darkness in his heart or if Swan had transformed him completely.

A gentle brush of her hand against his thigh abruptly jolted him from his deep thoughts, and his head darted to his right to see a tight smile form on her lips, thumb caressing his leg though his jeans.

“You okay?”

He nodded, but the gesture felt forced as he tried to keep himself composed for whatever Dave and Walsh had planned for them. He unbuckled his seat belt, fully prepared to head inside but she tightened her grip on his thigh.

“Wait, just... um...” she mumbled as she ran her free hand through her hair, clearly just as flustered by the evening’s change of pace as he. “Just... _thank you_. For doing this.”

“The date?” he managed to say. “Oh, it was nothing at all, love.”

“No, I mean this case.” She moved forward to cup his cheek, thumbing at the scar under his eye. “It means a lot to me.”

“You’re quite welcome, Swan,” he whispered, clutching her wrist as he leaned in to her touch. “But thank me when we’ve officially won.”

* * *

She attempted to listen to David as he discussed the recent intelligence, Walsh adding in here and there about the local police and previous Dartmouth cases. Killian’s hand never left hers, fingers fumbling underneath the island counter as they tried to anchor one another in the present.

It was actually happening. Danny Boyle had been found, traced to a boathouse in Dartmouth and it might be mere days until this case was closed and Edward Teach was behind bars and her entire past could be neatly wrapped up and closed off for good. She knew it wasn’t that easy though. Her past would always follow her, would always keep her from moving on completely. Neal’s death, his abandonment, his lies from that night and his reckless decision would haunt her forever.

However, the thumb brushing against hers made it feel lighter almost, as if the cracks in her heart weren’t as jagged and deep and heavy. They were a matching pair, Killian and she, both broken, pained by the deaths in their pasts, cursed to be forever alone, to lose those they cared for. And yet, here they were, together, _quite the team_ , and it felt like finally _finally_ , there was a reason for all the hurt they’d experienced for without it, they would have never found one another.

“Emma? _Emma_?” David’s voice droned on, the squeeze of Killian’s hand pulling her back into the conversation as David looked on with concern.

“Hmm?”

“How do you suppose we get you and Killian to Dartmouth?” David raised an eyebrow.

“Wait, we’re not all going?” Emma asked, mildly surprised. The Emma at the start of this investigation wouldn’t have cared much about that, would have probably told Killian his presence alongside her wasn’t necessary. But _this_ Emma was different, this Emma knew they all deserved this win.

David shook his head. “No, I’ll be heading to Dallas. Maggie’s been spotted there, goes by the name Mary and the bureau believes keeping her safe right now is just as important as finding Boyle. Teach could have men out there, and we can’t risk endangering her as well.”

“Too right, mate,” Killian agreed.

“Can’t they send other agents though?” Emma protested. “We need you here. _I_ need you here, David.”

“The less agents involved in this investigation, the better,” David explained before nodding towards the cop to his left. “Besides, Walsh and his team will be going with you as back up.”

“This is only for surveillance, Em,” Walsh added. “If we confirm that Teach is hiding Boyle there, then we can go in and finish the deal. But _only_ if we get confirmation.”

“Well, we’re having the wedding in Dartmouth,” she suggested. “We could use that as a cover.”

“That’s not until the end of the summer, love,” Killian reminded her. “Which is nearly a month away.”

Walsh shook his head. “Can’t wait that long. Teach could move Boyle by then.”

“Walsh is right.” David turned to Killian. “Any suggestions?”

Killian sighed. “Not without tipping my uncle off to our operation, mate. Dartmouth is only for family gatherings or official business. There’s no way I could convince him to take an impromptu trip without him questioning its necessity. Even if it was related to our false nuptials.”

Emma listened as the men continued to debate, mind drifting off to the night she’d lost Neal, the weeks afterwards as she sat in ~~their~~ her apartment in Washington, D.C., clutching his leather jacket as she laid on the cold tile of the bathroom floor. The morning sickness was awful that week, she remembered, her stomach churning and groaning in protest, her limp frame hugging the toilet.

And then one morning, the nausea and headaches and pains just stopped, a sort of calm before the storm that she thought was her body finally accepting that she was pregnant, that she could do this on her own, without parents or family or _Neal_.

She was on the phone with David a half hour later, screaming about a sharp pain in her abdomen that turned out to be the horrific onset of a miscarriage, the ambulance rushing her to the emergency room as David promised to meet her there, his hand holding hers tightly in the hospital room as the doctor told her that she had, in fact, lost the baby, _her_ baby.

She’d mourned the loss of Neal, mourned the loss of the child she’d never raise, of their child...

 _Their_ child.

“Pregnant,” she blurted out.

“Swan?” Killian croaked out.

“I’m pregnant,” she repeated, a smirk growing on her lips

“Wait, you’re not actually...” Killian began to stammer, his eyebrows shooting far into his hairline. “Because we only just... I mean, it’s too soon to tell with that sort of thing, right?”

“Too soon to tell _what_?” David demanded, his voice high as his insistent stare darted between the two of them. “Emma, too soon for _what_?”

“Nothing, David,” Emma mumbled, brushing him off before turning to face Killian. “We’ll lie and say I’m pregnant and that we have to push back the wedding to prepare for the baby or something. Knowing your aunt and uncle—”

“They’ll have none of it and want us to get married right away,” Killian finished for her, a large grin growing on his face.

She smiled proudly. “We’ll have to announce it to them in private, I suppose,” Emma began before practically bouncing out of her seat. “Oh! Or we announce it at the pub! With everyone there! Your aunt will be mortified, your uncle won’t know what hit him. They’ll have no choice but to send us all to Dartmouth for the fanciest shotgun wedding Boston’s ever seen.”

“Oh, Swan, you are bloody brilliant!” Killian exclaimed. “I knew there was a bit of mobster blood in you after all.”

David chuckled, nodding in approval. “I’ll let the bureau know the plan then. And Walsh will put together a small team to follow you two there.” He smiled, hand reaching out to squeeze Emma’s. “We’ll nab Teach for this, Emma. We’ll win.”

“I know,” she stated quietly before David let go of her hand, guiding Walsh towards the door.

 _This_ was it. _This_ was what they’d planned for, spent years preparing for until this incident fell into their laps, causing them to snatch Killian from prison, head to Boston and infiltrate one of the most dangerous mob families in the country.

 _This_ was the beginning of the end, she suddenly realized, and Emma couldn’t tell if she was excited or downright scared.

“So,” Emma began, glancing towards Killian. “Dartmouth.”

“Dartmouth indeed, love.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this took forever, but there was a lot to set up for the backend of the story, so I hope the wait was worth it! Enjoy :)

_Pregnant_. The word had felt dry on his tongue throughout the whole ordeal as his family fawned over Emma post-announcement, his cousin Ruby gushing as she rattled off possible baby names for the little one who didn’t actually exist, his aunt discussing wedding arrangements with her sisters, subsequently planning the entire family’s impromptu trip to Dartmouth.

Their plan to get his family to send them all to Dartmouth was so simple, at first glance. They’d announced ~~Emma~~ Emily’s impending pregnancy, shocked his poor aunt and uncle into submission, and made them want to have the wedding immediately. And it did seem to work on everybody, his whole family continuously gushing over Emma in the pub, making plans for a baby shower a few months from now, making sure she wasn’t showing too much for the ceremony.

But as far as his uncle was concerned, Killian knew it would take a little bit more convincing than just a simple announcement. The alarms had probably gone off in his bloody uncle’s mind about the sudden change in the situation, so the story needed to add up and make sense, regardless of the obvious fallacy of it, or else they’d both be in more trouble than they already were.

His Uncle Eddie had left the room moments after Emma had blurted out the words, “We’re pregnant!” and it worried him that he’d left, made him wonder what other _convincing_ his uncle needed to believe their obvious lie, his stomach uneasy with the thought of his uncle plotting his and Emma’s demise should he not trust their story.

(There was this nagging feeling in his mind that his demise had already _begun_.)

He excused himself from Emma’s side, politely bluffing about needing to use the bathroom, kissing her cheek gently and holding his hand over her supposedly pregnant belly in a tender gesture before heading towards the back hallway and his uncle’s office.

The light was on, peeking out from underneath the doorway into the dimly lit hall. He could hear his uncle on the phone, rattling off something about Dartmouth and police and _FBI_ before he opened the door with a slight creak, inviting himself into his uncle’s world.

“Hold on a minute,” Edward grumbled into the phone before looking up at Killian. “My boy! Can I help you?”

Killian shook his head. “No, just wanted to see what you were up to and...”

“One second,” Edward interrupted, holding up his finger to pause his nephew. “Divert that bastard to Chicago so he’s out of our hair. I have not waited decades for this to go south, you understand?”

He slammed the phone down on the receiver, huffing as he stormed towards his table by the window, pouring himself a glass of Jameson. “You want?”

Killian nodded in agreement, sitting in the chair opposite the desk, accepting the tumbler of whiskey offered to him and clinking his glass with his uncle’s.

The room was dark, despite the streams of setting sunlight beaming through the windowpanes, the smell old and musty, much like he’d always remembered, making him almost sick with the dreaded feeling the energy in the room gave him.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” Edward considered as he sipped his glass, eyeing his nephew over the rim.

“Aye, I suppose they are,” Killian mumbled, chugging the amber liquid, letting the burn soothe the panic in his mind.

His uncle sighed as he sat down at his desk, never one to be overdramatic unless the time called for it. But Killian could feel the tension in the room, could sense something hanging between them. Could he know about his deal with the FBI? Could he know he was playing him? Did he find out he was an informant? Did he not believe their announcement in the pub?

“I've found Maggie,” his uncle eventually whispered, staring blankly at the wall to his left.

“Who’s Maggie?” Killian asked, because although he knew damn well who she was, his uncle wouldn’t be privy to that. Besides, Maggie was in Dallas, safe in the hands of David and the FBI. No matter what upper hand his uncle thought he had, he was still _losing_. 

Edward scoffed. “Bullshit. You know _exactly_ who Maggie is.”

Killian’s jaw clenched, his brow furrowing before he smiled nervously. “I’m not sure I follow.”

Edward got up and headed back towards his whiskey, pouring himself another glass and drinking it straight before bringing the bottle over to his desk. “Word is your little _fiancée_ was asking about her.”

“Oh, she was?” Killian feigned ignorance. (Leave it to Swan to nose around in things without him.) “Well, who is she?”

“A person from my past,” his uncle began to explain as he sat back down. “And from Boyle’s. Which is why I find it odd that your _Emily_ is asking about her.”

“I’m sure she was just curious,” Killian explained, body shuddering at the scathing way his uncle stated Emma’s false name.

“Even so, I haven’t the slightest idea why she would be. Maggie is of no interest to you or your precious love,” Edward began, pouring both he and Killian another glass of whiskey. “Unless she was looking for something.”

“I highly doubt that,” he responded, trying to hide the anxiety settling deep in his bones by sipping on his drink. “She wouldn’t care about your precious Maggie...”

Edward scowled. “Unless she was FBI.”

Killian felt his body tense automatically, his face probably a ghostly white as his mouth fell open with shock. He felt his heart beginning to race as he held his uncle’s stern gaze, desperately attempting to hide the truth.

He swallowed the rest of his whiskey whole. “Don’t you think if she was FBI I would know?”

“Yes, I do,” his uncle responded in a slow, snake-like voice. “Which is my other problem. You see, if she _was_ FBI _and_ you knew, that means you’ve been playing your own flesh and blood since you returned.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Killian quickly interjected. “Not to you. Not after everything we’ve been thr—”

“Lies!” Edward roared, slamming his tumbler down on the desk, causing it to smash to pieces. “I had Jefferson look into her, and you know what he found?”

Killian sat in terrified silence, because while he could sense where this conversation was going, all he could think about was Emma. Oh gods, _Emma_. “You asked Jefferson, of all people? When you know he’d do anything to hurt her?” he protested.

“That’s besides the fucking point!” Edward bellowed, standing up abruptly and leaning over the desk. “He found out there is no _Emily Sharp_. She doesn’t even _exist_!”

“She’s right out there,” Killian began in a shaky tone, clutching his own glass tightly within his grip. “She’s my _fiancée_ and she’s pregnant with _my_ child!”

“Those facts may be true,” Edward sneered, hands braced on his desk as he stared his nephew down. “But I know who she really is.”

“And who would that be?” Killian demanded, standing up to face his uncle eye-to-eye.

“ _Emma Swan_.”

Killian had been through years of the mob, had killed countless people in cold blood, had seen dreadfully awful things in his years with his uncle, had even gone to federal prison alongside rapists and murderers who eyed him like some sort of prize, but nothing was more frightening than hearing her name tumble from his lips.

“She’s a federal agent with the FBI,” Edward explained, proud smirk on his lips. “And you are her informant, aren’t you?”

Killian’s legs felt shaky as he sat back down in his chair, his uncle’s smug expression the only thing in his line of sight as the setting sun outside shot dark shadows through the window and onto his uncle’s looming figure.

“I suppose this is the part where you shoot me dead,” Killian mumbled as he admitted defeat.

His body shuddered as he closed his eyes tightly. He knew how this went: quick bullet to the head from a gun with a silencer, nobody in the pub would be the wiser, his uncle would then go after Emma, and without his protection and David and Walsh out of town, she’d be by herself as his whole family watched her die...

But the shot never came, unless he was dead and this was his own personal hell, living out his purgatory alongside his uncle.

“No, my boy,” his uncle snickered. “I have a worse fate for you.”

Killian opened his eyes. “I don’t understand.”

His uncle rounded his desk, leaning over Killian’s chair, inches away from his face. His breath reeked of alcohol, making Killian sick. “If you want to keep your precious _Emma_ safe,” he began through gritted teeth. “You’ll do as I say or she dies. You hear me?”

He nodded in submission. “What is it you’ll have me do, my dear uncle?”

Edward chuckled, a derisive grin forming on his lips. “Kill Danny Boyle for me when we arrive at Dartmouth and I can promise you she will go unharmed, so long as she doesn’t get in my way.”

“And then?” Killian croaked out.

Edward began to laugh, a roaring sound that settled deep in Killian’s bones. “Then I’ll kill you, my boy.”

* * *

Killian had been gone for a long while, his absence making Emma worry as to his true whereabouts (she knew he was lying, could see right through him, but she didn’t have the heart to ask why). So when he reappeared from the hallway, distress written all over his face as he clenched his hands at his side, a nauseating feeling overcame her, making her wobble from her perch on a barstool next to Ruby.

“Whoa, you okay there?” Ruby asked as Emma gripped the counter.

“Yeah, just a little sick,” Emma breathed out, making eye contact with Killian as he remained shell-shocked in the doorway.

Maura got up, walking over to rub Emma’s back. “Perhaps it’s time to go home, dear. Where’s my nephew?”

Emma kept her gaze locked onto Killian’s, silently asking if something was wrong. He shook his head as he came over, taking Emma’s hand in his and holding it tightly.

“Everything alright, love?” he whispered confidently, but his grip felt unsteady, the tremble in his body running down his arm and into her, making her all the more worried.

“Fine, just the usual,” she stated, clutching her stomach with her other hand as if to mimic real morning sickness (which she remembered from last time could happen at all hours of the day, so her sudden spell shouldn’t set off too many alarms, she thought).

“Well, then I think it’s time for us to depart.” Killian helped her stand up, carefully brushing her back with his fingertips. He looked down at her, blue eyes blown wide as he took her in, studied her face as if she would disappear, sullen frown on his lips as he shot his gaze from her towards the floor.

Something was _clearly_ going on.

“Shouldn’t we say goodbye to your uncle before we go?” Emma asked, and at the word _uncle_ , Killian’s face fell into a look of fear, his shoulders slumping.

“Already did, love,” he quickly stated, brushing off his actions as nothing. He waved goodbye to his relatives, hugging Ruby and placing a quick peck on his Aunt Maura’s cheek before guiding Emma out to the car.

“Hey,” she began as he tried to rush them away from the pub. She stopped him abruptly, one hand braced on his forearm to keep him still, the other running gently across his cheek, thumb brushing at his scar as she tried to bring him back to her. “Hey, hey, _Killian_.”

The use of his name, spoken softly and delicately, broke him from his panic, her touch seemingly soothing him as he closed his eyes, breathed for a moment or two before opening them back up.

“There you are,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss him sweetly on the lips, her hand running down his neck, playing with the hair at his nape. “You okay?” she mumbled against his lips.

He wrapped both arms around her, clutching her tightly to his chest (tighter than ever before, and she wasn’t sure if it was because they weren’t pretending anymore or because of _something else_ ).

“Of course, love,” he whispered against her hair before placing a kiss there. He pulled back, looking down at her and smiling a little bit. “Because we’re going to Dartmouth tomorrow.”

* * *

Dartmouth was beautiful, more stunning than the pictures she’d searched on her phone on the drive up. It was magical, almost as if they’d driven to a private oasis just for them. Several picturesque houses lined the shoreline, all tucked away from the business of the main town. They overlooked the water, the houses sided in muted greys and blues and browns, large wrap-around porches with crisp white railings adorning the first floors, each with large patches of grass that led out to the sand.

Ruby called out names for each house as they arrived, guiding each family member to their appropriate lodgings as Killian’s large family hurriedly followed Ruby's directions, leaving Emma in the middle of the hustle and bustle of a Teach family vacation.

Killian came up from behind, surprising her and wrapping his arms tightly around her waist. “Like the view, love?” he asked, kissing her cheek.

She turned in his hold, threading her fingers through his hair like she’d grown accustomed to. “I like this view better.” She leaned in to kiss him before she heard shouts of disapproval from her left, blushing when she caught Maura and her sisters shaking her head at them.

“They’ll be enough time for that sort of behavior _after_ the wedding,” Nora stated, causing Maura to chuckle.

Killian growled. “Bloody pain in my—”

“ _Killian!_ ” Emma scolded, swatting at his chest before Maura guided her away, rambling on about dress fittings and where she’d sleep tonight (not in the small guest bungalow they had set up for she and Killian, a quaint little home on the outskirts of Teach’s property, far enough away from the main row of homes that nobody would know they were there) and all the party arrangements they still had left to do before tonight.

But as she walked away, Killian’s warm smile began to falter, his uncle coming up to greet him after the long drive, quietly explaining something to him as she watched Killian’s whole demeanor change, his shoulders sagging, his attitude brute and shameful, no longer the sweet, loving man she was falling for, but rather a shell of a man who looked like he was going through the motions of someone long gone.

Something _was_ up, and damned if she was going to just _let it go_.

* * *

The drive to the docks was short, but it felt like an eternity. Thoughts flashed through Killian’s mind of the last memory he had of this place, of his brother’s voice crying out to him on the other end of the phone, the sound of the gun blasting in the background before his brother fell to the floor.

He wondered where his brother’s body ended up, if his uncle had thrown him out to sea in an attempt to hide the evidence as the police found none, deeming his brother had gone missing after an awful boating accident, never actually looking any further into it. Part of him hoped his uncle would have the decency to bury him with his brother and toss him to a watery grave like he’d done with Liam and his parents, but he knew the ruthless man seated next to him wouldn't honor such a request.

He closed his eyes as he leaned his head against the car window, trying to search for a good memory of Liam to help get him through this whole ordeal.

“Boyle’s in the third boathouse,” Edward explained, but Killian barely registered it.

“Am I to kill him right now?” Killian asked, unprepared to commit murder the day before his fake nuptials. “I’m afraid I didn’t come equipped with the correct weaponry for such an act.”

Edward chuckled. “No, my boy.” He slapped him on the knee in an apparent gesture of praise before clicking his tongue at him. “But I am glad you’re eager.”

Edward drove a few more blocks before turning onto a sandy road that led to the boathouses, tucked away behind a row of sand dunes, a weathered dock jutting out onto the small bay, a large white tent set up nearby for tomorrow’s festivities. It was quiet here, quiet enough to commit any number of heinous acts and get away with them and close enough to the party that nobody would notice he or his uncle were truly gone.

“We need to extract information from Boyle first. Just your usual interrogation,” his uncle began to explain as he pulled the car to a stop. “And I heard about what you did to Peter, and I figured I’d let you get a crack at Boyle first.”

“What sort of information are you looking for?” Killian grimaced, aware that he was falling back into his old habits.

Edward sighed as he and Killian got out, guiding them up the small makeshift path towards the boathouses. “You see, Danny and Maggie had an affair of sorts, one that produced a child.”

“You want me to extract the child’s whereabouts?” Killian wondered, shuddering at the idea of murdering someone’s son or daughter as well.

“Sort of,” Edward continued, rubbing the beard on his chin. “You see, I want all three of them in the same place.”

“And do you have all three?” Killian pressed, aware that Maggie was in Dallas, and with Dave and should be safe.

“Almost,” his uncle responded. “I should by tomorrow, around 5 or 6. Or at least, that’s what I’ve been told by those... well, those working for me behind the scenes. Seems there’s been a bit of a problem getting the missus here, but the child. Let's just say, I have them in my sights and I just need the child’s name. To be sure, of course.”

Killian rubbed his chin. “So when you get this Maggie and her supposed child,” he began to ask. “Are they to just watch as I kill Boyle?”

Edward nodded. “Precisely. And then you’ll kill them as well.”

Killian stopped short. “You told me I only had to commit one act of murder!”

“And I’ve decided that your purpose has been extended,” Edward ordered turning around to make his point, brow furrowing in disgust. “Think of it as making up for lost time.”

Killian glanced out at the water, wondering what his brother would think of him now, back in the clutches of his uncle’s grasp, returning to the ways of his past, killing three innocents because of his uncle’s hatred for them, becoming the true nephew of the Blackbeard of Boston yet again.

And then he thought of Emma, her smile bright as ever when he’d left her because they were to be _wed_ tomorrow, her hair golden and silky beneath his fingertips, her kisses that tasted like home and love and forever.

And he couldn’t let her die because of him. He’d spent too much time trying to keep her safe, trying to _protect_ her, that he needed to do this for _her_.

(He thought of her fallen partner, how he’d went out on his own to keep her safe and had gotten himself killed, and he knew he was doing the same thing, putting her through the same heartache as before, and that almost crushed him, because he’d promised her he was different and he’d let her down.)

“Fine, I’ll do it,” Killian stated through clenched teeth as Edward grinned with pride, taking him to meet his future victim.

* * *

Killian was absent for most of the day while Emma ran errands around town with his Aunt Maura and Ruby, picking up last minute items and checking out the venue for tomorrow evening. His uncle had a tent set up last minute near the boathouses, overlooking the bay, complete with tables with red cloths adorning them, a small stage set up in the middle for dancing, candles the centerpiece at each table as the warm smell of sea and sand floated in on a breeze.

Emma smiled as Maura explained tomorrow’s run-down while they made their way back to the houses, glad that she had a _family_ for once, reveling in the camaraderie she felt amongst these ladies who treated her like one of their own when she was practically the enemy, hiding her true self behind a façade as she went after their patriarch alongside their own flesh and blood.

She excused herself from the women while they had their evening tea, stating she needed some air and a brisk walk, promising she wasn’t getting cold feet, reminding them she was pregnant and Killian was stuck with her, and called David when she got far enough away from the house.

“Everything okay?” David asked once he picked up, obviously concerned.

Emma had missed this, the quiet companionship between she and her partner, the way they could so easily read the other, the way he took care of her when she needed it most. It had been too long since they’d had a second to just _talk_ , feeling like Killian was more her partner these days than David, but she needed to spend this phone call reviewing the details of tomorrow, if only to ease her mind.

“Yeah,” she nodded, glancing out at the ocean, letting the soothing sound of the waves calm her. “Just wanted to review some things about tomorrow.”

“Ah, there it is,” David chuckled. “You know, you can relax tonight. The bureau and Walsh have got it all set up for the ambush tomorrow.”

Emma twirled her hair in her other hand, kicking mindlessly at the shells lining the sand. “I know. Just go over it with me one more time.”

David sighed. “Fine. Tomorrow at 6, surveillance states that Teach plans to murder Boyle. Walsh will show up with the SWAT team at about 5:30. You’ll go with him while Killian stays behind at the ceremony. The third boathouse seems to be his holding spot for Boyle. You’ll go in, catch Teach in the act, and rescue Boyle.”

“Sounds too easy,” she rattled off, picking up a rock and tossing it into the ocean, watching it skip across the water before it crashed into an oncoming wave.

“As it should be," David responded.

There was a slight pause and she could practically sense his scathing grin after the short snicker that erupted from his lips. “Okay, spit it out, David,” she rattled off.

“You’re worried about Killian,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Because you have feelings for him.”

“I do _not_ ,” Emma said with a scrunch of her nose, like some five year old trying to ward off her older brother, even if he couldn’t actually see it. “I’d just feel better if he was going with me too. And besides, why is it any of _your_ business?”

David laughed. “It isn’t. But I haven’t seen you like this in three years. It’s just a nice change, that’s all.”

Emma shook her head, and while he was right (Killian did make her feel calmer, safer, _stronger_ ), there was the clear fact that the end of this case would be the end of whatever they were and it was up to her whether or not their relationship would continue beyond that.

(Part of her was desperately trying to find a way to make it work, to get him out for good, to clear his name, to have him be _hers_.)

“I know Killian has changed since he met you,” he continued. “I remember him from back in the day, from when I went after Teach with my first partner, Frank. He was awful. Ruthless, spoiled. He was the worst human alive, next to his uncle of course.”

“And now?” she asked meekly, her voice low and tentative.

David hummed. “Now... he’s _different_. His heart is different. You can see it written on his face, as if being good and heroic makes him _happy_. And I don’t ever remember him being like that.”

Emma smiled wistfully, thinking of the warmth and tenderness and care that had been present in his demeanor since her incident with Peter at the shipyard (and well before that, with his quiet devotion and his steadfast assurances that were so unlike a man of the mob, so it was a shame he ever got caught up in this mess to begin with).

“He’s always been good, I think,” she murmured, looking down at her feet. “I think he just got lost after Liam and...”

“No need to explain, Emma,” he quickly interrupted. “Just promise me that after this is over, we’re done going after mobsters.”

She let out a breathy chuckle, nodding in agreement. “I promise. Cross my heart.”

“Good,” he responded. “Now, I’ve got to get going. Our plane to Dallas was diverted to Chicago because of some bad weather and we’re having trouble getting on another and I think that's the bureau trying to call me on the other line,” he rattled off hurriedly before he whispered, “But Emma?”

“What?” she stated in a slightly mocking tone.

He chuckled. “Be careful. _Please_.”

She smiled, knowing if he were here and not miles away, he’d have hugged her as well, cupped her head as he rocked her gently. He was the only family she had, and part of her wished he would be with them tomorrow too.

“Sure thing, David,” she said as she hung up the phone, placing it in the back pocket of her shorts.

She continued to stroll along the water, watching as Killian’s array of cousins played a game of football on the sand, young and naïve and so unaware of the actual reason they were here as she wandered further away from the summer homes.

The water felt cold beneath her feet as she took off her sandals, letting the salty waves wash over her toes, the night air filling her senses, making her relax if only for a moment. The water comforted her in a way, as if the demons of her past and Killian’s were washing onto shore, the ghosts of Neal and Liam and his parents keeping her on track, pushing her further and providing her the strength she so greatly needed for the next twenty-four hours.

Despite her female tendencies (this was a wedding after all, _her_ wedding), they were here to nab Teach for the kidnapping of Danny Boyle, for the murder of Neal Cassidy (for the murder of Liam and Shauna and Davy Jones, and countless others) and tomorrow night, after years and years of investigating, everything would finally fall into place.

So no matter how wrapped up she got about Killian and tomorrow’s ceremony and where their future lied, she couldn’t lose sight of the true cause, no matter what feelings were threatening to boil over.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been lost in her own thoughts, wandering about the beachfront when a loud shout erupted from the gaggle of boys, a familiar chuckle rising over the noise causing her to turn around and head back. One of the boys started yelping in defeat as she witnessed him get tackled by one very dashing Irishman, the man in question tumbling to the ground when several of the other boys came after him, jumping on top and creating a large heap of shouts and cries.

“Bloody hell!” she heard Killian shout as they fumbled for the football that was securely clutched in Killian’s arms, causing her to chuckle, a slight blush creeping up her cheeks.

He was adorable, wrestling with the rowdy teenagers now tugging on him for the ball as Killian fought them off, the boys on his team helping to dig him out until Killian was standing tall, ready for the next play.

They got themselves into position, Killian chatting with the seven year old next to him, explaining the play to him, she supposed. He ruffled the boy’s hair, grinning proudly as the boy got into his spot, shouting off numbers in his small little voice ( _17, 34, 55, Uncle Killy!_ ) before the ball shot backwards, the little boy catching it and tossing it to Killian, who caught it with ease.

The boys on the other team immediately dashed towards him as Killian darted out of their grasps, sprinting down the length of their sandy makeshift field with the football in tow, his team cheering him on as he ran and ran, heading straight for the end zone, heading straight into _her_.

He grabbed onto her when he realized they were going to collide, firmly holding her shoulders as they both collapsed to the ground, her back hard against the sand as the football went flying into the air behind them.

“Shit,” she hissed as he clung to her, their bodies hitting the sand with a loud _oof_.

Killian quickly sat up, dusting the sand off his jeans before reaching out a hand for her. “Apologies, lass. Seems I got too caught up in that game of theirs.”

She laughed a little as she grabbed his offered hand, letting him help her to her feet before she dusted off her own legs. “It’s alright.”

He grinned before turning back to the boys. “It’s getting dark, lads,” he shouted, causing them to groan and grumble. “And we’ve got a big day tomorrow. Perhaps it’s time for you lot to head in.”

They did as he asked, the little seven year old darting over to fetch the football before giving Killian a huge hug, Killian lifting the boy into his arms and holding him upside down by the feet, letting him hang for a moment while the child shrieked with joy before he set him back on the ground.

He was cute with them, acting like their favorite uncle, it seemed, watching them carefully as they headed off the beach, and it made her heart clench that there wasn’t actually a little family on the way, that she wasn’t actually pregnant with his child, that all of this was actually fake and—

“Love?” he interrupted, tucking his hand under her chin. “You alright?”

She jolted herself from her thoughts, nodding before whispering, “I should ask you the same question.”

He weakly smiled, looking away at the last of the boys as they headed into the nearest house before he glanced back at her. Something was off about him, the carefree man from just moments ago completely gone, replaced with someone who appeared empty and lost. His eyes, usually so full of emotion and usually so so _bright_ , were dull as they scanned her face, studying her as if it was the last time, as if he needed to put every line, dip and curve of her into his memory should he not be able to again.

(She wondered if it was just the impending end of the case, if he was as nervous about their ability to create an _actual_ future together as she was.)

He looked back out at the ocean, sighing heavily. “Suppose it’s just being here...”

She reached out and grabbed his hand, lacing his fingers with hers. “I understand,” she whispered, leaving it at that, not wanting to push him any further than he was willing to go

If something was truly wrong (and she could still feel that nagging in her heart that something indeed _was_ , the man David had described over the phone having disappeared temporarily), he would tell her in due time, she was sure of it. She _trusted_ that he would.

“Want to go for a walk?” she offered, tugging his hand in the direction she’d been heading in.

He nodded, clutching her hand firmly in his. “Aye, love.”

* * *

He couldn’t tell her, no matter what, he couldn’t let her know the awful act he was to commit come tomorrow evening. After all they’d worked for, after they were finally ready to put away his uncle for everything he’d done to both of them, it was _he_ who would end up being the true criminal of this tale.

In the end, when it came down to everything, he was nothing but a worthless man, the worst human alive, the true flesh and blood of his dreaded uncle. He didn’t _deserve_ her, no matter how many times he’d silently swore his allegiances to Emma and her team. And so part of him wondered if his impending death was his own punishment, for thinking that after every heinous act he’d committed in his lifetime, he could get his own happy ending, that he could be a hero and have a future worthy of a man he truly wasn’t.

Her hand felt strong in his as she squeezed tighter, leaning into him with every sway of her step, letting the sand crunch beneath their feet. Her shoes were in her other hand, dangling from her forefinger as she led them far enough away from the houses that no one would see them, remaining close enough that nobody would think to come looking.

He could see the small bungalow intended for their first night as husband and wife off in the distance, tucked away amongst the sand dunes on the outskirts of his uncle’s property here in Dartmouth, opposite of the boathouses. He felt his heart clench at the idea that they’d never use it, or any dwelling of its kind for that matter, because Emma Swan would never be _his_.

After tomorrow evening, he’d never get to run his fingers through her hair again, pull a soft smile from her as he tucked his fingers under her chin, see her green eyes look upon him like he was something to behold and not some hollow version of a man. He’d never get to hold her or kiss her or make love to her properly. All of this just to save her. Commit murder and die himself in the aftermath. A tall price to pay, he knew, but she’d be _safe_ , her cover would remain hidden from the others, and she’d be able to go about her life without fear of his uncle.

He wondered if she’d retire after this case, find a quieter job, settle down, meet somebody new and start a family. He wondered what her future husband would be like, and he hoped he’d love her as much as he did, that he’d show her the devotion and adoration she deserved. He hoped that she wouldn’t close herself off like she’d done after her last partner, that she’d be open to another, that she wouldn’t enact revenge again in his honor. Most of all, he wished she’d find a better man than _he_.

He felt her hand fall from his grip and watched the devious smirk grow on her lips as she sauntered over to a dry spot on the sand, sitting down on it with her hands splayed behind her.

“Swan, what are you doing?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as she nestled her feet beneath the warm sand.

“Enjoying our final night of the case.” She tapped the space next to her. “Join me.”

He huffed as he walked over to her, sitting down next to her, faking annoyance with a smirk of his own. “If you get bloody sand in your hair,” he began, leaning in to toy with one of her wavy strands. “I am not helping you get it out before tomorrow.”

She chuckled at that, dimples shining as she smiled at him. “Someone’s grumpy.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “I am anything but grumpy,” he explained, holding his hand over his heart melodramatically before he leaned in further. “I prefer devilishly handsome _scoundrel_ , thank you very much.”

She chuckled again before leaning back and lying in the sand, the nod of her head inviting him to do the same as he lay down next to her, hands entwining in between them.

“I’m sorry you had to come here,” she murmured after a few seconds had passed. She leaned up on her elbow, placing her free hand on his chest, over his heart.

(He could have sworn she heard it beating her name, _Em-ma, Em-ma. Em-ma_ , but if she did, she didn’t comment, just moved even closer than before.)

“Aye, it’s alright,” he mumbled back, reaching up to push a strand of hair behind her ear.

She leaned her chin on her hand, slowly breathing along with him. “No, it’s not. This must be hard for you and I’ve been so busy with dress fittings and table settings and your Aunt Maura driving me up a wall...”

At that he laughed, a soft rumble that made her move a little against his chest. Her other hand let go of his, coming up to trace the lines of his face, gently outlining his stubble.

“It’s just...” she began, sentence trailing off as she closed her eyes for a moment, steeling herself. “Liam would be proud, I think. Of you, and all you’ve done for me, for us, for this case.”

He grinned, the expression not quite reaching his eyes as Emma reopened hers, staring blankly at his neck as she awaited his response. “If you say so, love.”

Her gaze quickly darted to his. “It’s true though.”

He shook his head, causing her to sit up completely, as if his own disbelief of himself offended her in someway. “Emma, I’m not the charming prince you think me to be. I’ve got a past that could rival my uncle’s.”

( _And a future,_ he thought, knowing his time with her was running short, and Emma looked so beautiful against the moonlight, the sea air catching in her hair, making her appear like a bloody siren against the crashing roar of the waves. He wanted to remember her like this forever.)

“No, you’re a good man,” she demanded, voice rising in protest. “You’re a _hero_ , Killian.”

“I doubt that sentence holds any truth, love,” he continued, a self-deprecating grin forming on his lips.

She sighed, running her fingers through her hair anxiously. “Why do you still refuse to believe me?”

He gazed up at the night sky, unsure of what to say. If he told her a lie, she’d surely see right through him. Although telling her of his past was not lying, telling her of the countless people he’d murdered alongside his uncle, of the families and lives he’d ruined along the way would be a mere _fact_ , one that she likely already knew.

It was his present actions he couldn’t bear to let her see.

“I’ve done awful things,” he mumbled. 

“Yeah, and so have I.”

She was not backing down (he knew she wouldn’t, stubborn beautiful lass that she was).

“Look, I know it’s hard to change,” she continued. “I... I didn’t think I could be anything but angry after I lost Neal and the baby. I hurt so many people along the way with my actions. God, I even hurt myself, but here I am, with _you_. And we’re _finally_ going to win.”

“I just... I just don’t think the hero lifestyle is for me,” Killian responded as he sat up, leaning on his hands, his fingers sinking into the sand behind him. “I mean, after all this is over, I’ll just be a lowly criminal again.” (Or _dead_ , he remembered.)

She scooted forward, forcing him to turn and face her. “Killian, you are a _hero_ ,” she murmured, cupping his face with both hands to prove her point. “Whether you chose to believe it or not.”

He held her gaze, seeing the truth behind her statement. She really did believe him to be a hero, to be _good_. “You have such a good heart, Swan,” he began with a wistful smile. “Better than I.”

She smiled. “Don’t forget, I’m also I’m smarter than you,” she reminded him as her hands drifted south, landing on the open cut of his black fitted shirt.

Her touch was electric, and it had him leaning forward, her energy pulling him in, like a siren dragging him out to sea. “And you’re a damn good agent.”

Now it was her turn to look shocked, as if the last few minutes of debate on his hero status hadn’t convinced her of her own. “You think so?” she thought aloud, eyes wide in disbelief.

“Aye, I do.” He cupped her cheek, thumb brushing across it as she leaned into to his touch. “You’ll get my uncle. I’ve yet to see you fail, Swan.”

She leaned the rest of the way, lips brushing across his, soft and gentle as he pulled her closer. Her hands ran up his chest, rubbing over his shoulders and down his arms before finding their way into his hair, pulling his head to the side as she deepened the kiss.

She tasted like salt and honey and _Emma_ and he knew this would never be enough for him, knew he wanted more, knew he wanted _her_. Gods, he knew the moment she’d walked into his life, bright and golden, like an angel descending against the thunderous skies, bringing him out of his own storm and into her orbit.

Gods, he _loved_ her. From the beginning, he’d _loved_ her, even if he’d barely registered it then.

He flicked his tongue out, sliding it against hers, making her whimper into his mouth as she crawled closer, pushing him down onto the sand and straddling his hips, grinding herself against him.

“ _Killian_ ,” she moaned breathlessly as his fingers ran down her spine, feeling the shudder that raced in their wake before cupping her ass and moving her in slow, tantalizing circles above the bulge growing under his jeans.

“ _Emma_ ,” he rasped when her lips broke free to start a path down his jawline towards his neck. “Emma, perhaps we should take this to less...” He reached out and grabbed a handful of sand before chuckling, “Less _sandy_ quarters?”

She leaned against his forehead as she rolled her hips experimentally, the new angle causing him to growl at the delicious friction she was creating. “Sure.”

“Come on then, Mrs. Jones,” he grumbled into her ear as he nibbled on it. “Let’s go have our honeymoon early.”

She sat up abruptly, reaching for his hand and causing him to stumble up and after her, running up behind her and tossing her over his shoulder, causing her to yelp as he practically raced towards the small bungalow in the distance.

* * *

“Are you sure about this?” Emma asked, worry lacing her features as she picked the lock for them.

“Love, it’s ours anyway,” he stated, smugly leaning against the siding of the dwelling. “Might as well as use it for its intended purpose.”

She rolled her eyes, causing him to chuckle. He knew he’d miss this too, the banter they’d fallen so casually into, the way they seamlessly teased one another until the other gave in.

But he still couldn’t tell her, couldn’t let her know the deal he’d made for her safety. The least he could do was show her he loved her tonight, let her have this one memory, let them both have this quiet moment before everything fell apart. If he couldn’t live beyond this, he wanted to make tonight perfect for her.

“Aha!” she squealed with glee when she finally got the lock picked and the door swung open. “After you, Mr. Jones.”

He shook his head with a smile as he walked into the dark house before her, letting her close up. She locked the door again before turning to face him, a tentative smile on her lips as she leaned against the door.

“So,” she mumbled, biting her bottom lip as she barely arched her back off the surface.

“So.” He took a deep breath, trying to contain his need to just _have_. “One second, love,” he stumbled as he backed up, remembering the sound system in the corner of the living room, fishing through the racks of CDs until he settled on a rather new one. The speakers crackled to life, a soft saxophone riff vibrating from them as he turned around to face her. “Much better.”

She laughed to herself. “Music?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I feel that it sets the mood quite nicely.” He grinned, his tongue tracing his teeth as he sauntered closer.

“Is this one of your slick moves, Jones?” she teased before she bit on her thumb playfully, looking at him through thick lashes. 

“Is it working?” he joked, causing her cheeks to blush. His eyes roamed her figure, the overly large shirt hanging off her shoulder, exposing her skin there, the shorts that showed off her toned legs, the smile that crept onto her lips.

“Perhaps.”

She closed the distance between them, her shoes clattering to the floor as her lips crushed onto his. He growled at the contact before she pushed him against the back of the couch facing the large windows that overlooked the ocean.

She ground her hips into his, letting herself feel what her presence did to him, and he let his hands roam down her back, cupping her ass and pulling her further into him. Her fingers quickly made work of his shirt, tugging it up and over his head, fingernails dragging down his chest, causing him to groan against her lips.

“Bloody hell, Emma,” he rumbled, low and gruff as his hands wandered underneath her top, her skin warm to his touch as she trembled beneath them. He wanted to show her every ounce of devotion she deserved, every bit of love and passion she should receive from a man, every fragment of his broken heart that beat just for her.

He lifted her shirt up gently as his lips wandered down her jawline, tossing the shirt behind him and resuming his work on her neck, sucking on her pulse point, making her sigh in his arms. She reached behind herself, unclasping her bra and letting it fall between them, and he backed up for a moment to look at her, _really_ look at her and commit her to memory like this, all flushed and wanton. His breath hitched at the mere sight of her, creamy white skin, soft curves and toned muscles and _gods above_ , she was breathtaking as his eyes continued to roam her figure.

He pulled her flush against him, arm holding tight around her waist. “Absolutely beautiful, love,” he whispered against her lips before searing another kiss onto them, his hand tangling in her hair.

She reached down to unbuckle his pants, fumbling with the belt before he swatted her hands away, flipping their positions and pinning her against the couch with his hips.

“No, Swan,” he growled as he kissed down her neck, leaving a wet trail towards the swell of her breasts, taking one nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the peak. “Let me take care of you.”

She keened, hands running through his hair, tugging on the thick black strands as she guided him to her other breast. He repeated the action, making her writhe against him, calling out his name amongst breathy moans as his hand wandered down her side, running over the curve of her hip before finding its place between her thighs, cupping her and running his fingers lightly against the seam of her shorts. She whined as her hips rolled against the friction, and he popped the button open, sliding them down her long legs, revealing blue lace underneath. His fingers pushed the lace aside, running through her slick flesh, making her back arch immediately as she rocked against his touch, eager for more.

“Jesus _fuck_ ,” she muttered. “I need you, _Killian_.”

His lips continued their path down her stomach, kissing the hem of her lace before he slipped the garment off her hips and knelt to the ground, taking her leg and hitching it up and over his bare shoulder.

She gasped when he kissed the inside of her thigh, humming, “Relax, love,” into her skin as his lips headed towards where she needed him most.

His tongue darted out, flicking lightly at her clit as she gripped onto his hair with one hand, the other tightly holding onto the couch and he wanted nothing more than to watch her fall apart, over and over again.

“I promise,” he began, grinning wide when the vibration of his soothing timbre against her core made her shiver. “You will feel good after tonight, Emma.”

And that much he could promise. He could guarantee that he could show his loyalty to her through his actions, through the way he could make her feel by sending her over that sweet, sweet edge until she was begging for him again, praying for more.

“ _Please_ ,” she pleaded, her voice desperate and needy and a little wrecked, sending a shot of arousal straight to his groin, and then his tongue was on her, lapping in between her folds as she twisted restlessly above him, making him burst with want and need for _her_.

Her grip on his hair grew firmer as his tongue darted in and out, her hips rolling insistently against his face as he held onto her thigh, fingers bruising into her skin as he felt his own jeans grow increasingly tight.

“You are absolutely divine like this,” he hummed against her soaked flesh before placing a kiss there. “Exquisite.” Another kiss, causing her to wriggle against his nose for some sort of friction. “Gorgeous.” One more before his teeth nibbled at her clit, making her gasp. “Bloody _stunning_.”

She gasped as his tongue darted back in, swirling it as he thrust quickly inside her, making her body shudder, her standing leg trembling as she leaned back on the couch to keep from collapsing against him. He glanced up for a moment, her skin all flushed and sweaty as she moved her hips with purpose, searching frantically for her release as he worked her towards it.

He leaned back, releasing his mouth from her, causing her to whine at the loss before he plunged two fingers deep inside her, moving them with speed and determination. “Let me hear you, _Emma_. I want to hear what I do to you. I _need_ to hear you.”

She moaned loud, screaming his name as he felt her tight walls clench his fingers before her body shivered, her orgasm pulsing through her as she rocked her hips against his hand, her fingers still tightly clutching his hair.

“Bloody breathtaking when you come, love,” he murmured before she tugged him up by his hair, crashing her lips down on to him, her lips tugging and nipping with renewed fervor, tongue slipping in and tangling with his, making him groan helplessly into her mouth.

“Bedroom. _Now_ ,” Emma mumbled between kisses, and he picked her up, wrapping her legs around his waist as he carried her back to it.

_This_ was really happening, and he wanted it to be everything for her, wanted her to remember him and this and _them_ when he was long gone, when he was _dead_. She’d be _safe_ after this ordeal was over, and that was all that mattered in the end, her safety and her happiness, and now she could have both.

(A small, nagging part of him wondered if she’d be unhappy without him, if she’d turn back into the agent he’d met, if her hatred for his uncle would turn into full-blown vengeance before he was brought back from his thoughts by her gentle touch.)

Her fingers worked his belt buckle after he set her down on the bed, and he let her undress him easily, sighing in relief when his cock sprang free from its confines.

“I _want_ you,” Emma murmured, lightly pecking his hipbone, then the other before pushing his boxers down his legs, gesturing for him to take off his shoes. “I want you. I want _us_.”

“I want _us_ too,” he whispered as he kicked his jeans and boxers to the side, knowing he couldn’t have the future she wanted for them, that all it would ever be was a _dream_.

She reached down and grasped onto him, smirking with pride at the way he rocked his hips impatiently into her hand, her smooth skin rubbing against him and making him wild with lust. “My turn, Killian,” she hummed as her pace increased, gripping him tighter before releasing him and pointing to the mattress. “Get on the bed.”

He did as she commanded, crawling onto it and lying down next to her. She straddled his hips as she kissed a path down his chest, the smooth jazz from the living room quietly shifting through the air. She placed a kiss against his tip, and it took every ounce of restraint he had not to thrust up into her lips, let himself go inside the warmth of her mouth. She showed him mercy though, swirling her tongue up and down his shaft before sliding him into her mouth, cheeks hollowing out before she released him with a loud pop.

“Sw-wan,” he stammered, hips driving up into her mouth of their own accord when she took him back in, tongue swirling against his length. “Gods, _Emma_ , I don’t think I can hold back if you keep up like this.”

She sat back, settling between his legs with a playful pout on her face. “Does that mean my fun is over?”

His eyes grew dark as he scooped her up, flipping her over onto her back, grinning at the girlish yelp that fell from her lips. “No, love,” he growled, grinding his hips into hers, feeling her own arousal coat him as he nudged her thighs apart. “The fun is just beginning.”

He moved his hips forward without warning, thrusting into her and sliding home easily, making her back arch off the bed as he filled her to the brim, her chest flush with his. It was better than he’d remembered as he moved gently inside her, giving her a moment to adjust to him, the slow drag of him against her walls and the warm heat he felt around his cock almost wrecking him right then and there.

“ _Move_ ,” she whispered into his ear, her breath cool against his skin. “ _Fuck_ , please just—”

He felt like he was on fire as he pulled back, driving back into her and surprising her, making her squirm beneath him, silently begging for _more_. And he’d never been happier to burn as he thrust into her again and again, making her moan with appreciation.

“Gods, you feel so good,” he mumbled against her skin, leaning down to take her breast into his mouth, suckling on it and making her cry out. “You feel so bloody _good_.”

“I... _Killian_ , I lo—”

“Shh, don’t,” he whispered against the swell of her breast before moving back to hover over her lips. “I already know.”

She only nodded, taking her legs and wrapping them tightly around his waist, pulling him in even further as he kissed her with all the care and attentiveness he could muster, trying to push away the thoughts that he’d lose her after this, that no matter what vows they would exchange tomorrow, no matter what promises he’d make her tonight, he would be gone and she would be without him and he would have _lied_.

His hips began to piston a little harder, dragging deliberately against her walls with each movement, his hand grabbing her left and entwining their fingers above her head, his thumb brushing over the diamond engagement ring that started it all.

Her whimpers echoed throughout the room, as her other hand ran up and down his back before settling on his shoulder, giving herself leverage as she rocked her hips up towards him. He reached his other hand between them, thumbing at her swollen clit, making her gasp before she tensed beneath him, body stilling as her release rolled through her in wave after delicious wave, her body clenching around him, making him fall apart wrapped in her heat.

It took a moment before either came to their senses, both sated and spent from their actions. He rolled off her, sighing as she burrowed into his chest.

He pulled the covers up and over them, holding her tightly against him as he kissed the top of her head. “Goodnight, Emma.”

She only hummed in response, sleep overtaking her as she drifted off, her left hand placed snugly over his heart, the diamond ring glistening against the moonlight streaming in through the windows.

(He’d deal with his family tomorrow on her whereabouts, knew his aunt would complain it was bad luck to be together the night before, but bloody hell, he didn’t _care_. He needed this, to show her how he felt, to give her a _good_ memory before he lost her trust and her heart.)

Emma was gentle and so innocent while she slept, her long blonde hair splayed across his chest as he kept her close, taking in her scent, honey with a bit of sea salt, tracing the outlines of her figure, her dips and curves, thumbing at the apples of her cheeks and the corners of her lips, trying to remember her like this so in the end, he wouldn’t forget.

And as he drifted off as well, content to live like this forever, he remembered the first time they’d met, remembered her passion and ferocity, the way her eyes gleamed with revenge, the way she’d looked just like _him_.

( _“You’re playing with fire, love.”_

_“Well, maybe I don’t mind getting burned.”)_

He wasn’t a man who cried, he was strong and tough, he was a part of the bloody mob, for Christ’s sake. But in that moment, he couldn’t help it and he let the tears fall, silently sobbing for how he’d managed to make a mess of things once again.

Killian Jones, a _criminal_ after all.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! Hopefully the twists make up for the wait! :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This chapter will contain a non-con scene towards the middle. Please don't read if you feel you'll be triggered!_

Emma felt sore and used and _pleased_ as she woke up, stretching her body out as she nestled into the comfort of the sheets around her, nuzzling back towards the warm, solid presence behind her. She turned in his grasp, taking in the furrow of his brow, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed deeply and soundly, the pink of his lips as he murmured something that sounded faintly like her name.

_Killian_.

Last night was amazing, more than she could have hoped for. They’d had sex before, and yet last night felt like so much more than that, more than just a scratch needing to be itched, more than just mutual frustration coming out in the form of clashing teeth and bruising touches.

It felt like two people coming together and finding each other, fitting together like two halves of a puzzle.

They’d been through so much since their first meeting, she thought, and now they were here getting _married_. And despite its falseness, she _wanted_ this. More than she thought she would, because Emma didn’t do _this_ and here she was, doing exactly that and _enjoying_ it.

There was still the underlying fear of what would happen after this, however. She wondered if they’d go back to their normal lives, if whatever this was, this thing that kept simmering between them would still exist after the heat of the battle was gone. She hoped it would, hoped he would be the one to stay, but she knew too well to get her hopes up too much, to say it was that dreaded l-word she never thought she’d utter again.

She’d been here before with Neal, been at this point in the relationship where everything seemed great. And with Killian, it was different, it was  _right_. She was certain that he felt something more than just physical attraction towards her. After everything he’d done for her, after everything he’d sacrificed, he had to  _love_  her. Really, truly  _love_  her. Right?

But even last night, as she keened and moaned as his hands and his mouth brought her towards the edge, the words threatened to spill from her lips, the words that had been itching to get out since the day they’d met.

But he’d _stopped_ her, wouldn’t let her say them, only responding with the fact that he _knew_. And even so, why wouldn’t he let her say them?

He mumbled something, brow furrowing harder as his shoulders tensed before he slid closer to her, grip on her hip insistent and tight, and she wondered if last night meant as much to him as it did to her, especially with the knowledge that he’d halted her confession because something just felt _off_. 

(She could have sworn she heard him crying as she drifted off to sleep, but she wrote it off as a weird dream, a concoction of her too-wired brain and lack of proper rest, and not the very real reality that something was bothering him.)

He stirred again, eyes blinking open slowly before landing on her, his hooded gaze accompanied by a warm smile.

“Good morning,” she whispered, her hesitant thoughts somewhat forgotten.

Killian’s lips grew into a pleasant grin. “Aye, that is it. Did you sleep alright?”

She nodded. “Mm-hmm,” she hummed, reaching a hand up to run it through his hair, giggling when he purred. “You?”

“I was with you, love,” he whispered, closing his eyes as he leaned into her hand. “Of course I did.”

She rested her head against his chest, placing her palm flat across his heart, feeling it beat steadily under her fingertips as she tugged lightly on his hair. “Are you nervous?”

“About our operation?” he asked, pulling back slightly to catch her gaze. “Not at all, love.”

She laughed lightly. “No, about the wedding. About getting _married_.”

“Oh, _that_.” He pondered her question for a moment, the silence making her stomach clench with anxiety. “No, not at all. I’m sure Emily Sharp and I will live happily ever after.”

Emma giggled. “You’re a dork.”

He rose an eyebrow, his tone serious yet playful. “I do hope you don’t tell her about our current dalliance, Swan.”

His hand traced up and down her hip, causing her skin to tingle almost instantly, his other hand coming up to lift her chin. She smiled weakly, causing him to lean in and brush his lips against her forehead in a gentle caress.

“What is it, Swan?”

She paused, not sure how to broach this subject. She knew they’d had this discussion, knew they’d promised one another things wouldn’t change but promises were made to be broken. She knew that all too well. 

“When this is all over...” she began, feeling his protective grip tighten around her waist as a tremble rocked through her body. “Do you think...”

“Think what?” he pressed.

“Well, it’s just... you’ll go back to prison for a little while. Conditional sentence and all. And I’ll go back to being an agent.” She sighed, fiddling with his chest hair, avoiding his gaze. “We’ll be like strangers again and what if we don’t feel the same way when we reunite?”

“Then we run away after all this is over,” he interrupted, causing her to swat at his chest.

“Stop being ridiculous,” she scolded. "My department would find us."

“No, I’m quite serious, love,” he continued, face slightly weary as he went on. “We run away as far as our feet and money will take us. Where my uncle can’t find us, where the bureau won’t look.”

“That’s insane,” she shot back. “I have a job and you have a sentence to finish. We can’t just run from our responsibilities.”

“I rather think we can.” He rolled her over, pinning her to the bed with his hips. “And if you don’t believe me,” he began, kissing a trail up her neck, nibbling underneath her ear. “I can be quite persuasive. Or so I’ve been told.”

She moaned, running her hands across his shoulders, settling in the hair at the nape of his neck. “God, _Killian_ ,” she murmured as his tongue darted out to lick the shell of her ear. “You should save this for the... _oh god_... the wedding night.”

“But I want you now,” he whined, rolling his hips into her, letting her feel exactly what she did to him.

She could feel him, hot and hard against her inner thigh, making heat pool low in her belly, making her want and need him as much as he did her.

“I can feel that,” she croaked out as he insistently ground his hips against hers, the hard ridge of his cock rubbing against her heated flesh.

“Can you now?” he drawled, pushing her thighs apart and settling between them, teasing her entrance. “Gods, I need to be inside you, love.”

“I have to go and get ready. They... they’re probably,” she whimpered, feeling her body keen in a vain attempt to get him to just do _something_ , despite her vocal protests. “Your aunt and cousin are probably... _god_... looking for... _yes right there_.”

“Just give me this, Emma,” he insisted, leaning back to look at her, studying her face with such gravity, it made her heart jump into her throat. “Please? I _need_ you like this.”

She nodded with approval, tugging him down for a lazy kiss, letting her lips slide over his, feeling the tension in his body whither away at her touch.

She arched her back as he slid into her in one fluid motion, rolling her hips up to meet his, delighting in the way he just made her forget about the case and the operation, the way she made him forget about his worries and his fears, loving the way he felt moving against her and above her and inside her as he guided both of them easily towards release.

(She ignored the way he silently whispered against her skin that he needed her like this, needed to remember her exactly like this and pretended like nothing was wrong when nothing about this truly felt _right_.)

* * *

He knew Emma could sense something was off about him this morning, but knowing his Swan, her mind was preoccupied today, the case and the takedown of his uncle prevalent in her mind. He shouldn’t matter, wouldn’t matter when this was all said and done, so why was he so worried about her reaction to his current predicament?

She was right this morning, though, about them being strangers when this was all over. In fact, he’d be nothing but a distant memory, and a _dead_ distant memory at that. And as much as he wanted a future with her (today’s festivities made him dream of a little blonde boy with blue eyes like Liam's or a spirited dark haired girl with piercing jade eyes like Emma's) he knew hers belonged somewhere in the bureau, somewhere better than whatever he could give her.

He hoped that his uncle would listen, would adhere to his word and stay away from her. He hoped that today would run smoothly, that she would be none the wiser until the deed was done and she and the department had to swoop in to pick up the pieces.

He wondered if the bureau would scold her, if they’d reprimand her for failing.

Most of all, he wondered if she’d attempt to avenge his death and ruin everything he’d done for her well-being, becoming the cold, empty hearted person he'd become after he lost Liam.

(He’d have to be completely daft to think she wouldn’t. He knew Swan’s character and he knew she’d do something, if she wasn’t utterly enraged about the whole situation, because there was something simmering between them, and he knew she wouldn’t let his uncle go that easily, not after she’d lost not one but _two_ partners by his hands.)

He shook his head, trying to calm his running thoughts. Emma didn’t love. She’d told him as much in various ways. So she couldn’t possibly love him? Even though she’d almost blurted out the words, even though he knew it deep within his heart.

She couldn’t love him. Not a _criminal_ like him.

“My boy,” a deep voice rattled his thoughts, his uncle walking up to his place on the sand, creating a feeling a dread deep in his stomach. “You ready for today?”

Killian nodded, looking out onto the beach as they waited for the women to head down the aisle, for the music to start and for Emma to appear, golden hair tousled in the salty breeze. He inhaled deeply, wanted to bottle this moment and remember it when he was at the end, when he was awaiting his final seconds, when he was _dead_.

“You know, I’m quite impressed with your dedication, son,” his uncle went on, slapping him heartily on the back. “This girl must mean a lot to you for you to give up so much.”

“You wouldn’t know,” he mumbled, scratching behind his ear, nervous for the ceremony, for the impending murder, for his secret to be revealed, for his upcoming farewell.

Edward shook his head. “I know _all too well_. All of this was for Maggie, you see.”

Killian scoffed, turning his head to his uncle. “Does she even love you? Did she ever?”

Edward looked offended, arching an eyebrow in the same manner as his nephew often did. “She did once. And she’ll learn her lesson. Today, when you kill all three of them.”

“Three?” Killian asked, shocked. “You found the child?”

“Yes, my boy,” Edward murmured. “I found the daughter. You see, I’ve had a few of my men close to her for a while. I’ve had my suspicions of her identity and... well, let’s just say the surprise will be worth it.”

“Surprise for who?” he pushed, but his uncle only chuckled before the soft sound of strings filled the air and his cousin Ruby made her way down the aisle in a short red dress, signaling the start of the ceremony. “Uncle Eddie? Who is the daughter?”

Edward clicked his tongue, smirking with pride as he cocked his head towards the aisle. A few more of his cousins strode down after Ruby, taking their place next to the officiant.

And then the music shifted, sounding more triumphant, signaling his bride’s arrival, Killian took his gaze off his uncle, looking down the aisle to witness Emma turn the corner, clad in a mermaid style gown, lace overlaying the white satin. It was strapless, showing off her delicate shoulders, a slight golden tan apparent there as she smiled at him, pinned curls fraying in the breeze.

She was a vision, beautiful and goddess-like, making him feel like drowned man finally coming up for air. And god, was she  _everything_. He'd have gone to the ends of the Earth, or perhaps even the universe itself, if it meant she'd be happy and safe and alive. She smiled coyly, never once taking her eyes off Killian.

And then his uncle cleared his throat beside him. “Take a good look at her, Killian,” he began, making the light feeling of his fluttering heart halt suddenly, replaced with a heaviness that made him swallow hard. “Because it’s almost over.”

* * *

Emma felt nervous, more nervous than her first day at the bureau or her weeks in the camp learning the ways of federal investigating or the day she found out she was pregnant. And this wasn’t even a true wedding.

It was fake, and yet the butterflies and the anxieties felt absolutely _real_.

She breathed deeply, smoothing over her dress as she waited in the distance, listening to the soft lilt of strings fill the seaside, salty tang on her lips as she tasted the beach air, awaiting her cue to walk down the aisle to Killian.

He must look ridiculously handsome, she thought, wondering if he’d chosen the black suit or the tan one. Selfishly, she hoped it was the tan one, knowing how the color accentuated the dark black of his hair, fitting nicely with the deep and piercing blue of his eyes.

The string music changed timbre, her ears perking up as she heard the distinct and familiar sound of the wedding march. She stepped forward, clutching her flowers closer to her and hoping she’d make it down the aisle without making a complete fool of herself.

She turned the corner, smiling at the audience oohing and ahhing at her appearance before she looked up, gaze catching onto Killian’s, noticing the light color of his dress pants and waistcoat ( _light grey_ , she commented to herself, nodding in approval), blushing at the guffawed look on his face as he watched her glide towards him, chuckling at the slow smile that spread across his face.

His uncle, standing next to him, was whispering something into his ear, making Killian’s smile fall slowly into a frown, and she wondered what he could have possibly said.

Suddenly, the giddy feeling of being wed turned into the dread of being discovered.

This operation was their whole purpose for this, and the apprehension that overcame her almost had her fainting on the spot. For an FBI agent, she was really failing at the whole cool and composed thing.

(Although, if she was being totally honest, that whole ship sailed the moment she’d met Killian.)

* * *

_It’s almost over_ , he recalled as Emma stepped in front of him, taking his hands in hers after handing her lily bouquet off to Ruby.

And it sort of was already, he thought, knowing that after tonight, Emma would be safe and he would be gone and the case would be over. But Emma would be _safe_. And while he was repeating her fallen partner’s mistakes (which just about broke him on its own), he knew this was what needed to be done.

She was an agent, and despite all her talk of them figuring their relationship out after the case, he was sure of the impending outcome if weren't set to die tonight. He, a criminal with time left to do. She, a federal agent with important work to embark on (or not, depending on how her department saw this ending).

There was no place for _him_ in her life. In all honesty, he was probably better off dead.

The officiant spoke of love and life, of futures and new beginnings, of family and friends. Yet, it all felt dull and numb to his ears, despite Emma’s warm touch in his palm, her bright smile shining up at him as the sun set behind her, creating a halo of sorts amongst the golden curly wisps hovering beside her face.

Her voice, porcelain and sweet and surprisingly calm, broke him out of his thoughts. “I, Emily Sharp,” she began, smirking after using her false name. “Take Killian Jones to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and hold from this day forward, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, until death do us part.”

She took the gold band from Ruby, sliding it easily onto his ring finger, smiling hesitantly as she did so.

It took a reassuring squeeze of her hand for him to repeat the officiant’s words himself. “I, Killian Jones, take Emily Sharp to be my lawfully wedded wife.” He took a moment between sentences, composing himself for the rest. Her hands were solid in his, no sense of anxiety as she stood in front of him, soft smile spreading across her lips, gentle gaze coaxing him to continue. “To, uh, to have and, um... to hold...”

He looked down at their entwined hands, words escaping him, forgetting the whole rehearsed bit.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, sensing her step closer to him. “I just...”

“Killian?” Emma whispered, ignoring the gasps from the audience at his sudden cold feet. “What are you doing?”

He scoffed, letting go of her right hand to scratch behind his ear. “It’s just... these bloody standard vows are atrocious, in my opinion.” Ignoring the shriek of disapproval from his aunt, he continued. No time like the present to tell her how he truly felt, especially if this was it.

“I am completely and wholeheartedly in love with you,” he began, letting out a sigh of relief at the words tumbling from his lips. “You were an angel that came into my life, an angel I surely didn’t deserve. You’ve made an honest man out of me. You make me want to be good for the first time in a long time. You make me want to be the best version of myself, not because of you but _for_ you.” He sighed, bringing his free hand up to push an errant curl behind her ear, grinning wide when she leaned into his touch. “I want to be that man for you. I want you to believe I can be that man, until death do us part.”

Emma sniffled, smiling at him with a look that made his heart swell. He took the gold band from his cousin Jefferson, placing it safely and securely on her finger, the rest of the ceremony a complete blur as the officiant announced their marriage and she leaned in for a chaste kiss, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck as his hands found purchase on her hips.

_Until death do us part_. If only she knew how soon that would be.

* * *

Something was definitely wrong, Emma thought as she glided through the reception, talking with this family member and that family member, accepting champagne from Ruby, trying desperately to await David’s call on her comm system, placed discreetly in her ear, behind the pinned curls that hid it so well.

Killian, however, looked far worse than any man should after a wedding, after _his_ wedding. She wondered if it was their talk this morning, if he was nervous about going back to prison, if he was nervous she wouldn’t want him after this, if he was scared to finally take down his own uncle.

She was nervous too, but most of it felt like it stemmed from him, from her need to protect him, for her need to figure out what was going _on_.

Her comm system buzzed slightly, and she discreetly pressed her ear, pretending like she was fiddling with a pin in her hair, smiling at the distant relative before excusing herself.

“Yeah?” she whispered once outside the tent.

“Emma?” she heard, the connection hissing in and out. “Emma, y... need to... out of th... _Please_.”

“David? David, I can’t hear you.” 

“Just... he’s... they want to... Walsh is... and Killian... dead.” He sounded faintly out-of-breath, and the connected was fuzzy, at best, but Emma struggled to make sense of his broken up speech.

She shook her head. “David, you’re breaking up. What is going on?”

“I’m... not... Dallas... Maggie White... is there... Mary... you are...”

"Mary? Who is _Mary_?" And then the connection fizzled out as Emma heard the clinking of glasses inside, the signal that she was to kiss her groom. She quickly rushed inside, finding her significant other at the bar as he nursed a tumbler of whiskey.

“Hey handsome,” she whispered as she strode over, taking the glass out of his hand and placing it firmly on the bar counter, sliding her lips over his in a soft caress. He grinned into it naturally, hands settling on her waist, tugging her in closer. There were whoops and hollers, cheers from beside them before they broke, foreheads settling on one another’s as they breathed each other in.

“You okay?” she asked when the crowd got back to the festivities, the nearby guests leaving them to their own privacy.

He nodded. “Aye, just...” He looked away for a moment, and when he turned back to her, she could see the distant look in his eyes, the darkness hidden within its depths. “Just can’t believe we’re here, that’s all.”

She cocked her head to the side. “You sure? Those vows earlier were _quite_ the confession.”

“Aye, I’m quite fine, my love.” He pulled her in for another kiss before the sound of percussion and strings began to fill the air. “Besides, we have other matters to attend to at the present moment.”

He spun her around swiftly, grabbing her hand and tugging her along with him. Ruby jumped up almost immediately from the other side of the reception tent, squealing and running towards Victor as Killian tightly squeezed Emma’s hand in his, leading her out to the middle of the dance floor where the crowd had shuffled out of the way to create a small space in the center for them.

“What is this?” Emma wondered, shuffling uncertainly as he placed his other hand on the small of her back, pulling her flush to his frame.

“Family tradition, love,” he teased, squeezing her hand in his.

Emma stiffened. “Is this a dance? I don’t dance, Killian.”

“And what kind of fool would I be if my own wife didn’t dance with me at _my_ wedding?” Killian smirked at her, the blush still present in her cheeks. “Besides, you only need follow my lead, love.”

“You’re telling me you know how to do whatever this is?” Emma asked incredulously.

He grinned, his grip on her only growing tighter as he nodded. “Oh, Swan,” he whispered, low enough so only she could hear the surname he was discouraged from using, his face alight with something it had been missing as of late. “I’m full of surprises.”

And with that the music began, and it felt like her feet were flying as he tugged her across the floor, spinning and twirling and vining through other couples on the floor, always careful to keep her close to him. He paused them abruptly, linking his right arm with her left and moving her around in a circle for six counts before clapping twice and repeating it in the other direction. He was all smug, toothy grin with an uplifting glint in his eyes, and for the first time since they’d arrived here, he looked genuinely _happy_.

A few of the older family members created an arch, and Killian promenaded them through it with ease before his hand left hers and they peeled the lines back to repeat the motion. She was guided to a row of ladies, opposing the men who had lined up as well. The row of ladies moved forward two steps, finishing with two claps, and the men answered in time. Emma tried desperately to keep up as Killian grew closer and closer during each set of steps, winking at her when she was close enough.

He outstretched his hand for her to grab, firmly spinning her into his torso before spinning her back out and bringing her back in one fluid motion. He repeated the linked movement until the music grew in intensity again, and then he was whisking her across the dance floor in a series of turns and twirls and sashays that made her head dizzy and her heart race and her feet soar.

He spun her out in a roar of laughter, her own beaming smile matching the one plastered on his face as he pulled her back in, lifting her up to hover above the ground as the music died down. He lowered her carefully, hands firmly pressed against the small of her back.

Her breathing was ragged, his unsteady and unsure as she stared at his face, young and content and carefree. Her lips moved of their own accord as the sound of clinking wine glasses filled the room again, her mouth inching closer to his. She was sure she heard his breath catch in his throat, the hand on her back clenching the fabric of her white dress as she parted her lips, getting lost in the way this felt, in the way _he_ felt.

“Emma,” he whispered against her lips as the musicians began another song, the reception bustling once more. “Emma, I love you. No matter what happens after today, I _love_ you.”

She looked up at him, unaware of anyone else in the room but him. He said it with such conviction that her heart stuttered in her chest.

“Killian,” she responded, slightly dumbfounded by his blunt confession, but nonetheless ready to return the sentiment. “Killian, I lo—”

“Well, well, well,” a smug voice stated as the room grew abruptly silent and Edward Teach entered the room. “Look at the happy little couple.”

Killian’s body grew stiff as he backed away from Emma, hands leaving her waist. “Bloody hell."

“W-what?” Emma stammered. "What's going on?"

“Oh, your husband hasn’t told you?” Edward sneered as he strode towards her, Jefferson at his side. “I know who you are, _Emma Swan_.”

Emma inhaled swiftly, looking between Teach and Killian as if to check if she’d heard right. He'd used her name, her _real_ name, and the idea that he knew who she was, that he knew why she was here had panic settling deep in her bones.

“I’m so sorry, love,” Killian sighed, defeated and broken, backing even further away from her, leaving her open and exposed to whatever Teach had in store for her. “I had no choice. If I do this, he’ll stay away from you. You’ll be _safe_.”

_Safe_? Giving away her cover would keep her _safe_? Was he fucking kidding her? She’d _trusted_ him. She’d given him everything. Goddamnit, she’d _loved_ him and he’d betrayed her, just like everyone else in her life had. Who was she to think Killian would be any different? Who was she to think she could let someone of his caliber into her life and actual think it would work?

“You lied to me?” Emma snarled, voice quivering as she tried to make sense of the situation. “You _lied_ to me?”

"Not exactly, my dear," Edward responded. "I found out your identity well before. Killian here is just a message. A message that will hopefully teach you and your kind a lesson you must not have learned the last time we were here."

She stepped towards Killian, punching his chest in frustration. “But you fucking lied to me. How could you do that? To me? To us?”

He closed his eyes, wincing as the words came out. “Because I don’t matter. _You_ do, and he’s promised you’ll be safe after this.”

“But... but you _loved_ me?” Emma forced through tears, her breath coming out in short puffs as she felt the beginnings of hyperventilation come over her.

“I still do,” he croaked out, trying to step forward as Emma avoided his grasp.

“Don’t touch me,” she commanded, keeping her hand out in front of her to hold him back. “Don’t you _dare_ touch me.”

“Well, this has been quite the turn of events, I would say,” Edward announced, as if this had always been his plan. “Jefferson, get the girl out of here. Killian and I have business to attend to and I don’t need this whore getting in my way.”

Edward cocked his head towards Jefferson as he strode towards Emma, linking her arms behind her and tugging her away, ripping the comm system out of her ear. She didn’t even protest, every agent fiber of her being screaming at her to fight (for herself, for Killian, for this case) but all she felt was defeat and she let Jefferson walk her out of the tent, gagging when he began whispering filthy things, his body swaying a little to close for comfort.

She turned around once, seeing Killian’s beaten expression, the way he closed his eyes and bit his lip, the way his shoulders sagged with loss, the pained look of treachery apparent in his stance before he opened his eyes and looked one last time at Emma before the distinct odor of chlorine hit her senses, a cloth covering her mouth and nose as it all went _dark_.

* * *

He thought death would be the worst part of today. Death would be a painful understatement for the look of anguish and betrayal on Emma Swan's face.

Emma’s anger was enough to break him completely. Within twenty-four hours, he’d gone from catching her moans with his lips to sensing her disappointment within every look and movement and frustrated word tumbling from her lips.

“Will she be okay?” Killian shouted as Edward forced him out of the tent into a black SUV, slamming the door shut as he rushed into the driver’s side and sped off towards the boathouses.

“I suppose she will be,” Edward leered, turning swiftly around a corner. “But first, I’ll let Jefferson have a little fun with her. Seems he’s owed at least that.”

Killian felt his stomach lurch as he thought of Emma in the arms of his cousin, forced into something she wasn’t consenting to. This wasn’t part of the plan, and he wondered if his uncle had ever intended to call a truce with Emma Swan.

“Are you bloody out of your mind?” Killian roared, trying to force himself out of the moving vehicle to no avail, realizing quickly the doors were all locked, his uncle having hot-wired the vehicle to prevent him from doing so. “You promised me she’d be safe!”

His uncle chuckled, as if the impending rape and molestation of his Swan was a joke to him. “I promise a lot of things,” Edward scoffed. “Besides, you’re going to die later, so what does it really matter to you who she fucks right now?”

Killian felt nausea quickly overcome him, a strong urge to fight back forming in his mind. He wanted to tell his uncle that he couldn’t do this anymore, that he needed to go and save Emma himself. This was all supposed to keep Emma safe in the first place, to keep her out of the mess that was his uncle’s enemy list and his uncle went and did the exact opposite, leaving her in the hands of a relative who had one too many nasty tendencies and a weird obsession with his Swan. He just hoped she had enough mind to fight back.

“Just sit tight and enjoy your final hours,” Edward reminded him. “You have three murders to prepare for, my boy, and I promise, they won’t be easy.”

* * *

She woke with a headache, and a warm feeling on her neck that felt like a dead fish suckling on her flesh. Her arms and ankles felt bound to something, the hard wood of a frame digging into her shoulders and her back. The air felt cool to her skin, and she realized her dress was slightly torn down the middle, fabric bunching at her hips.

She wanted to speak up, shout about the uncomfortable sensations wracking her skin, but a tie was conveniently wrapped around her mouth, lodged between her teeth, preventing her from forming the words she needed to call for help.

She felt unsteady, out of sync, the room spinning as she tried to register where she was, her eyes glued shut as the scratchy feeling of lips made its way to the shell of her ear.

She tried to blink a few times, and it was then that she noticed the feeling of a body pressing down into her, keeping her firm against what felt like a mattress beneath her, her body weak and slack as the solid form writhed above her.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” she heard him whisper, his voice making her shudder, but her body unable to do much of anything, the room a hazy fill of colors. “But my fucking cousin had to have you. He gets everything, you know. My uncle’s attention, my aunt’s devotion, _you_.”

She whimpered, feeling his fingers glide across her skin, a gurgling feeling bubbling in her throat. The fingers found their way between her thighs, insistent and intruding and not at all what she was accustomed to. She tried blinking again, vision coming into focus as she took in the greasy dark haired man before her, the dark eyes filled with mischief and pain and malice.

_Jefferson_.

His hands wandered her skin, thumb rubbing over a bare nipple, making it harden under his touch. “So responsive. I _like_ it.”

She closed her eyes, not wanting to remember the next few moments, her body still too weak to fight, her mind tired, her body feeling as fragile as glass as he let his lips roam the swell of her breast, moaning disgustingly as he did so.

He stood back abruptly then, the familiar sound of a belt unbuckling ringing in her ears. She tried to wish herself to disappear, trying to imagine something else, trying to think of _Killian_ , of his strong and sure arms holding her steady as he dipped his head between her legs, of his body, solid and firm between her thighs as she rode him towards that edge of pleasure, as he nuzzled into her neck, kissing her with a tenderness she never imagined she deserved.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” Jefferson stated, settling himself between her legs, stroking his cock a few times before he nudged at her entrance, groaning already at the feeling, even though she was barely wet. “I really don’t give a fuck if you do.”

“Please,” she mumbled through the tie, her senses regaining themselves at an annoyingly slow pace. “No, please.” She pulled back into her body, trying to jerk away from him to no avail, the bindings on her wrists and ankles holding her in place as his hand came up to smack her hard across the face.

He smirked when she whined at the sting, pulling her chin so he could look her in the eyes. “Shut the fuck up, you slut, and let m—”

And then a sound of a crack thundered throughout the room before he fell limp on top of her, her body jolted into sudden consciousness as Victor Whale stood before her, pushing Jefferson off her and letting him fall to the floor with a loud thud. He quickly undid the tie around her mouth, stepping back to scan her body, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Please, not you too,” Emma whimpered, almost on the verge of tears, knowing that training prepared her for a situation such as this, but it shook her to her core nonetheless.

Victor grinned, leaning over to untie her wrists from the bedpost. “Nope, I’m here to save you, Agent Swan.”

Emma’s eyes widened as he kneeled down to undo the ropes around her ankles. “You’re... _what_?”

He chuckled. “Let’s get you dressed and then I’ll explain everything. Okay?”

Emma sat up, taking his hand as he led her off the bed, tossing her a duffle bag full of clothes and guiding her to a small room as he promised to take care off Jefferson with a cheeky wink. She wasn’t in a place right now to deny help, even if it was from someone who was supposedly on Teach’s side (although now, so was Killian, and she wasn’t entirely sure who she could trust anymore).

“Ready?” he said, knocking on the door. She opened it, walking out in a pair of jeans and a button down shirt that he likely stole from somewhere else in the house. He held out his hand, offering her a gun.

She shook her head, trying to make sense of it. “Why are you doing this? And where did you get that? That’s a government issued hand gun!"

He exhaled, reluctantly offering his hand out for her to shake. “Federal Agent Frank Stein, Special Ops at your service.”

Her mouth fell open almost immediately as she gripped his hand, shaking it firmly. “I’m sorry?”

He chuckled a bit. “I’m an agent, Emma. Just like you. Been following Teach since before you arrived. The bureau wasn’t sure if Killian could be trusted, and with your track record involving Teach, they weren’t sure if you could take him down without getting too emotionally involved.”

She groaned, bringing her hand up to massage her forehead, throwing the duffle bag over her shoulder. “So this whole time...”

“I was your backup, which clearly you needed,” Frank derided, guiding Emma out of the house Jefferson had brought her too, leading her towards a black sedan out front, smashing a window to gain them access. “There’s a lot you’ve missed.”

“Alright,” she said as Frank hot-wired the vehicle with ease, before pulling out into the street, racing towards the boathouses that were much further from where she had started that evening. “Fill me in.”

Frank nodded curtly. “Walsh is a dirty cop. Sold you out to Teach about a month ago, but the surveillance he has on you goes back long before that. Maggie isn’t in Dallas, and Nolan is on his way here. Word is he’s in Chicago trying to catch a flight, but we don’t know for sure. Comms have been out of whack all weekend.”

“Okay,” she exhaled shakily. “What else?”

Frank reached into the duffle bag in her lap, grabbing a manila folder and nudging for her to open it. “We know where Danny Boyle and Maggie White are located. There’s a third victim we have no name for who is likely already there but surveillance has no hit on her, just a inkling.”

“A _her_?” Emma thought back to the broken up conversation with David on her now missing comm system. "Could her name be Mary?

“Maybe. Surveillance suggests it's their missing daughter,” Frank explained. “Apparently, Teach finally found the long lost child of Boyle and he wants to watch all three die in front of one another.” Frank scoffed. “Pretty fucking dark if you ask me.”

Emma took it all in, trying to keep track of everything that had happened so suddenly, trying to get her body to calm down and for her heart to stop racing, trying to hone in on her cool and composed agent self.

Frank dug into the duffle bag, retrieving one more folder. “There’s one last thing. We’re no longer instructed to take out Teach.”

“What?” Emma asked.

“Agent Swan,” Frank said, gripping the wheel tightly as he whipped around a turn. “Emma, I need you to listen very carefully. Your new assignment is to take out _Killian Jones_.”

* * *

Danny Boyle was his main target, and somewhere in this blasted boathouse was one very terrified Maggie White, awaiting whatever fate his uncle had planned for her before he was to murder her and her daughter.

This was not the man Liam had wanted him to be, and this was certainly not how he wanted things to end. He didn’t want his final moments to be committing the sins of murder, committing three in his uncle’s honor.

And yet, here he was, all in a vain attempt to keep Emma safe. And now, that promise wasn’t even fulfilled. Knowing she was somewhere in town with Jefferson made his stomach lurch and his heart clench, and he’d be lying if he hadn’t thought of several different ways to escape this SUV and rescue her.

He only hoped her comm system was still working, that Dave would have heard her struggle and sent someone to come and save her. Perhaps Walsh was close by. Perhaps that monkey could be her knight in shining armor, be the man he never could be, no matter how badly he wanted it.

“Almost there, my boy,” his uncle muttered, but it brought no joy to him.

A Killian of the past would have given anything and everything for this opportunity. This was a _huge kill_ , in mobster terms. Murdering a rival, his lover and their long-lost daughter would have sent ripples through the network, leaving his family at the top of the food chain once again and reminding the town of Boston who truly ruled.

His past self would have been giddy over this. His past self would have loved this.

But the version of himself that had grown from Liam’s death, from Emma’s presence felt nothing. And that made this even worse.

* * *

“Killian?” Emma asked, exasperation laced within her tone. “Are you fucking _kidding_?”

“No,” Frank said, shaking his head in despair. “I’m afraid those are the orders, straight from the bureau itself this morning.”

She rubbed her temples, trying to get her mind to calm down, trying to get her heart to stop racing. She’d just married him all but an hour or so ago, and now she was given orders to _kill_ him. This had to be a joke. This had to be wrong. It was one thing to find out he was roped into working for Teach (something in her gut reminded her that this wasn’t because he wanted it, but rather because he felt he had no choice) but it was another thing to discover that _you_ are the one enlisted to take him out.

“He’s intending to murder three people tonight,” Frank explained, a particular brand of _bureau calm_ within his voice. There was a certain type of sereneness to his demeanor, something she knew he’d learned and honed through his work in the department, but it did nothing to quell the burning feeling behind her eyes and the lump in her throat. “We can’t let that happen.”

“It’s not him!” Emma shouted, finally accessing the frustration she’d felt since Teach had interrupted her wedding reception. “It’s fucking Teach! This is his entire fault! He’s using Killian, blackmailing him and threatening my life to get him to do his dirty work. This isn't Killian!”

Frank sighed as he pulled up to the boathouses, discreetly parking out of sight. “Doesn’t matter. If he attempts to kill his targets, we don’t have a choice. Orders are orders, Agent Swan.”

“So I’m just supposed to kill the man that I... that I...” she tried to speak, groaning in frustration before she spit the words out. “That I _love_ because the bureau says so?”

Frank nodded. “Yes, because before being a wife or a lover, you are an _agent_. Don’t forget that.”

He left the car, leaving Emma to fume as she hastily opened the door, slamming it with as much force as she could muster, taking her hand gun and placing it on the holster beside her, following Frank into what could be the worst moment of her life.

Killian Jones: her husband, her partner, her _everything_ , and now, her _target_.


End file.
